The Wizarding World Is Not Enough
by Riyan
Summary: Draco Malfoy works at Flourish & Blotts with his roommate, Greg Goyle. Chaos ensues after his ex, an Unspeakable, sends him a book which puts the wizarding world's secrets in his mind. Now Draco's a spy, Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson are his handlers, and his cover story is that Potter is his boyfriend. But is there something more there? HPDM
1. Draco Versus the First of August

Richard Burns, the manager of Flourish and Blotts, narrows his eyes as he surveys his team. He often refers to them in his head as his 'motley crew', but this morning, they really look it. Emma looks disheveled and keeps yawning, barely reaching up to cover her mouth when she does. Greg is staring off into the middle distance, clearly in his own little world. Jamie is alternatively examining his nails and biting his cuticles. Joe and Luca are attempting to carry on a conversation in undertones, though Richard can clearly hear that they are discussing plans to go to the pub after work. The other various and sundry members are shifting from foot to foot, looking bored. Only Draco seems to be paying Richard any mind.

Ah Draco, the model employee. Always put together, tie neat, robes straight. He is polite with customers and he works hard. Richard knows his background, of course he does, everyone knows about the Malfoys' involvement in the war, but Draco has been nothing but professional since joining Richard's team five years ago.

Richard clears his throat and tugs his shirt down lower over his tummy. Jamie glances up at him briefly, then his eyes flick back down to his nails.

"Ok, team," Richard begins. "Do you know what day it is?" Emma yawns again and doesn't bother to try to hide it. Greg shrugs.

"It's the First of August," Draco says.

"Exactly. It's the First of August," Richard says, holding his hands out in two excited fists before him.

"So what?" Joe asks.

"So," Richard says, taking the time to draw out the word and therefore draw out the anticipation. No one bites. "So, the Hogwarts acceptance letters just went out. And the Hogwarts Supply Lists just arrived in the houses of every single student at that school. And do you know what that means?" He looks around at the team. He sees comprehension dawn in Greg's eyes.

"Yes, team. It means today will be the busiest day of the year. The day when ordinary house witches turn in to vicious book hunting animals, blinded by the need to get their precious children the correct textbooks, and eager to get the school shopping done early. If this were a zoo I'd say run for your lives, but this is Flourish and Blotts and we run from no challenge!" He punches a fist in the air. He feels his shirt ride up his stomach again but he ignores it. He stares around at his team, wild eyed and excited. They blink back at him. Nathalie blows a bubble with her gum and it pops with a loud snap.

"Yeah," Greg cries after a beat, raising his own fist. "We're with you, Big Dick!" Richard grimaces slightly at the nickname and then continues to grin around at them. He looks at Draco, who the team looks up to, and is relieved when the blond man steps forward and begins directing the team to various parts of the store. Richard puts his fist down and straightens his shirt again.

"Right," he says as the team members begin to move throughout the store. "I will be in my office." He hurries away, eager to get started on his morning cauldron cake.

…

Meanwhile, many miles away in a top secret location in Northern England, Oliver Wood is in mortal peril. He has found the package that he came to this location to get, but he can hear the hit wizards moving in fast. He curses. His eyes rove the mostly bare room for something he can use as a portkey and, finding nothing, he pulls off his watch. It will do, even though he is loathe to part with it.

He can hear shouts down the corridor and he knows his colloportus won't last for long once they reach the door. His mind casts around for the right person or coordinates to send the package to. He hears a fist slam on the door behind him and he jumps. There is a series of loud bangs as the hit wizards begin trying to break down the colloportus holding the door shut.

Oliver swears and enters the first safe portkey coordinates he can think of, attaches the package to the portkey watch and activates it. It is only after it has disappeared with a faint pop that he really thinks about where he has sent it. It has been years since he has even thought about those coordinates. He had thought he had forgotten them in the post breakup pain.

But the package will be safe there until he or the right Unspeakables can collect it. He looks over at the door and sees that the edges are starting to splay. He runs to the side of the room, next to the door, and flattens himself against the wall. He brings his wand up and bends his knees, ready for the moment the door will break.

And just a few moments later, it does just that, exploding inwards, accompanied by a volley of stunning spells in all directions. One narrowly misses Oliver, even though he is flush against the wall. He sends his own stunning spells through the doorway and then the hit wizards begin to swarm the room.

Once they leave the doorway, Oliver throws up some shielding spells, darts through the door and sprints away down the corridor. He throws more stunning spells over his shoulder as he runs, but he does not dare look back to see if any of them hit home. He rounds a corner and slows down, struggling to get his bearings. If he can just get outside of the anti-apparition wards, he will be fine. But the building security has kicked in and the corridors have scrambled themselves, so he is no longer sure which way to go. But he is prepared for that. He thinks he has prepared for all eventualities, and he hopes it comes out the way he wants it to, but The Reliquary is gone either way, so at the very least, that part of the mission is complete.

He waves his wand around his head and then projects a tiny map onto the palm of his hand. Perfect. If he keeps running down this corridor and then takes a left at the next junction, he will have a chance. He picks up speed again. He risks a glance behind himself and sees that there are two hit wizards pursuing him. He shoots more stunning spells behind himself and pushes on towards the end of the corridor. He feels rather than sees the stunners, jinxes and curses that fly past him. One of the stunners grazes the top of his head and he can smell his hair singe.

He reaches the junction and throws himself around the corner before skidding to a stop. A line of hit wizards blocks the corridor. He is surrounded. One of them steps forward. Oliver narrows his eyes and glares at her.

"Agent Wood," the hit wizard says. "Perhaps you should have stuck to Quidditch." Oliver is so damn tired of hearing that line that he says nothing and instead curls his lip into a silent snarl. "Where is it? Where is the Reliquary?" Oliver turns his snarl into a smirk.

"It's gone, Parkinson" he says.

"How? Where?" She takes a menacing step towards him. Oliver presses his lips together and shakes his head. He is starting to see that there is no way out of this. The Reliquary needs to be protected and if they take him alive, they will make him talk. This is one of the eventualities he has prepared for, even if he had been hoping it would not come to this. He puts the tip of his wand to his temple. There is a shout as Major Parkinson tries to stop him, but then his wand flashes and Oliver knows no more.

…

Draco watches as Big Dick scurries off to his office. Draco is fond of the man, particularly as he had been one of the first people in the wizarding world to actually consider him for a job, despite his past. It is a past that he has worked hard to distance himself from over the last ten years and Big Dick's acceptance of him has done wonders for his feelings of self worth after so much rejection.

Joe and Luca sidle up to him and then stand expectantly in front of Draco, awaiting their instructions.

"So, what's the plan," Luca asks.

"Plan? What do you mean plan?" Draco furrows his brow and looks back and forth between the pair of them. Joe's shirt is untucked and his tie is askew. Luca's robes are inside out, but he does not appear to have noticed.

"I mean, do we do what Big Dick says?" Joe asks. "Or are we causing mayhem?" Draco takes a deep, calming breath. Dealing with Joe and Luca often takes all of his patience quotient for the morning.

"Yes," he says at last. "Yes. This is one of the biggest retail days of the year, and how we perform could make or break us." The last part is something Big Dick had said to them all the other day but he is not overly concerned that Joe or Luca will be upset by the repetition. He is not even sure they will notice it. He is sure they haven't paid much attention to a single thing Big Dick has ever said to them. "You don't want people going to Quigley's over in Knockturn Alley, do you?" Quigley's Mystical Market is the unspoken main competitor to Flourish and Blotts and the Flourish Team enjoys a mostly friendly rivalry with the Quigley's Team. Both Joe and Luca shake their heads violently.

"Right, boss," Luca says, saluting him. "We will be model employees today." Draco does not point out that he is not their boss, because every time he does that, they ignore his protests anyway. In their mind he is the assistant manager, although no one officially holds that position.

"Good," he says instead. "Big Dick will like that." Joe makes a face to indicate that he does not care what Big Dick thinks of their performance, but Draco knows it is just an act. All of the employees are very loyal to the man, possibly because he had seen something in all of them where no one else had even bothered to look.

Draco knows he himself would be unlikely to hire most of the rest of the staff for any other job, but somehow their collective weirdness does not take away from the Flourish and Blotts buying experience, and if anything, it adds to the charm. Or at least, that is what Draco tells himself when he turns a blind eye to some of the shenanigans that go on. And if they aren't the most efficient team? Well, how often do people come into a bookstore with a specific book in mind? In his experience, most people prefer to peruse anyway, so if they can't find someone to help them, they are generally content.

Today will be different though. He thinks back to the First of August from last year and grimaces. It had been chaotic to say the least. And of course, that had been the year that Big Dick thought it would be alright to re-order the copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility. Seemingly Flourish and Blotts had had enough staff turnover that no one had remembered the 1993 debacle and so the publishers had been able to convince Big Dick to order another hundred copies to replace the hundred they never found the first time.

This year, the day will be better than that, but not by much. He groans as he thinks about all the Hogwarts mothers who will be descending on the store in only a matter of minutes. He wonders if this will be the year that he will run into an old classmate with their children. He is sure some Hufflepuffs had probably married and had kids right after school.

He mentally scolds himself for his sweeping generalization of an entire house of people. He has been working with Greg on fixing that habit. If the war has taught him anything, it is that those kinds of closed minded assumptions only lead to problems.

Somehow he doubts any of his schoolmates have children yet. Or at least, he doubts that there are any Hogwarts aged children. The first few post war years had been a hectic, messy time for the wizarding community. A flurry of marriages, sure, but not many children.

Draco and his family have predictably faced backlash for being Death Eaters, although the fact that his mother had played a part in Harry Potter's survival, and the fact that they had defected before the battle even started, means that they have escaped doing any time in Azkaban. Draco is loathe to admit it, but Saint Potter had provided much of the testimony that allowed them to walk free.

Of course, Lucius, in true Lucius form, had thrown a bunch of other Death Eaters under the bus in return for his freedom. It is for this reason that his parents rarely leave their Wiltshire estate, estranged from the world and reclusive with everyone save Draco and, for reasons that still escape Draco, Teddy Lupin. Teddy is related to Draco in a way that he can draw on a family tree, but he cannot articulate out loud. But Teddy will not be starting Hogwarts until next year, so he does not expect to see him or Aunt Dromeda today.

Draco checks his watch and, seeing that it is nearing opening time, squares his shoulders and makes his way to the front of the store. He peers gingerly through the front window. A small crowd has already formed outside. He looks around for Big Dick, but the manager is still safely ensconced in his office and Draco knows he will not emerge until the worst of the rush is over.

He gestures behind himself for the rest of the team to get into position and then counts down the seconds to nine am. Right as he hears the clock on the front of Gringotts begin to chime the hour, he whips his wand out and throws open the doors. Then he stands back and watches as the tide of witches and wizards enters the store. He reaches up and briefly adjusts his tie knot and then he throws himself into the fray.

"Standard Book Of Spells grades one through seven this way," he hears Greg shout.

"Unfogging the Future and all divination books over here," Jamie says in a bored voice. He is still periodically examining his nails, but at least he is being partly helpful.

Draco stands near the registers, watching as the flood of people moves through the store. Not for the first time he thinks about the flyer up on the wall of the break room, advertising the assistant manager position. It has been unfilled for several years now and Big Dick wants to put a change to that. Draco knows that more than anything, Big Dick wants an official person that he can push unwanted work onto. Draco resolves that if today goes off without a hitch that he will apply for the position. And then he knows that as soon as he has decided that, there will be problems.

First there is a woman who holds up the checkout queue when she gets to the front and realizes she has forgotten a book and so sends Joe to get it for her, while not giving up her place in line. Then there is a man who Draco watches put a book into an inner pocket of his robes who insists that he hasn't. Draco and Greg corner him and make him turn out his pockets, only to find that he has an undetectable extension charm on the inner pocket and it takes him ten minutes to retrieve the book he has slipped in there. And lastly there is the wizard who keeps trying to ask for a discount for a veteran with one leg, despite having two perfectly good legs, which are both clearly visible under his slightly too short robes.

It is most definitely the First of August, and it is a bitch of a day.

…

"Oliver Wood was one of your agents, Croaker," General Amelia Dempsey, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Hit Squad, says. "He was an Unspeakable."

"Yes, and it was the Hit Wizards' job to find him," Director Saul Croaker spits back. They are both mad as hell and Major Pansy Parkinson stands awkwardly between them. She fiddles with her hands behind her back and looks back and forth between the two department heads.

Ostensibly, the DMLEHS and the Unspeakables are supposed to work together, but there has always been tension between the two branches.

She is still seething about the fact that Wood managed to get past her team and steal that book. She is even more mad about the fact that she can't question the coward about it. Her muscles still vibrate from the adrenaline, even though it was several hours ago now, and she fights the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet. This is neither the time nor place to appear antsy.

"Beg pardon, General," Pansy says. "What was Agent Wood doing? What is The Reliquary?"

"It's everything," Croaker says. "Or, it was."

"I'm sorry?" Pansy is not sure what Croaker means.

"For the past six months," General Dempsey says. "Every department in the Ministry - the DMLE, the Department of Mysteries, hell, even some foreign agencies like the International Wizarding Police and the Police des Sorciers in France - all fed information to The Reliquary. Unorganized secrets, just off the wire and a whole lot of archives to boot. The magic behind it worked as a brain, sorting the information and finding patterns in the chatter. Using all the data it was able to piece together things we didn't and it forewarned us of things still to come."

"Now, that's not to say that it was able to make predictions," Croaker says. "There was no Divination involved. We have determined that Divination is less precise and far more mistake prone than analyzing data and looking for patterns."

"But I thought a true prediction," Pansy starts to say.

"Yes, yes," Croaker interrupts her. "A true prediction is just that, but they are so rare, and there are so many false positives that it's just not worth wasting the resources on them." Pansy can see the sense in this. She had always pegged Professor Trelawney as being mostly a fake. Though Trelawney had made two startlingly true predictions in her time, most of the 'predictions' that came out of her mouth between those predictions were just balderdash.

"As we were saying," General Dempsey says, steering the conversation back on track. "The Reliquary is gone, and with it, all of our information."

"So you're saying that there is potentially a villain out there with every secret we've ever had?" Pansy asks. She works hard to control her face, but in the seriousness of the situation it is hard to keep the alarm from her eyes. She takes a slow breath and forces her facial muscles to relax. This is nothing she can't deal with. She is not the fastest promoted Hit Wizard recruit in decades for nothing.

"We have all our best portkey tracers on the case, trying to figure out where he sent the damn thing," Croaker says. "Unfortunately, as one of my agents, he knew what he was doing and how to cover his tracks." Croaker looks pained and Pansy almost feels for the man. But then, it was one of his agents who had gone rogue and caused this mess, so she is also incredibly annoyed at him. She knows that General Dempsey is too. Pansy can see her boss's irritation in the tight line of her mouth.

"So what should we do in the meantime?" Pansy asks. She wants something to do with all of her nervous energy.

"We wait," Croaker says. "Until we get a lock on that portkey trace." Pansy gives him a curt nod. She had figured this would be the answer.

"Very well, sir," she says. She turns to General Dempsey. "General, permission to wait in the training room?"

"Granted." Pansy salutes and leaves the room. Croaker and Dempsey watch her go.

"She is your pick for heading up this investigation, General?" Croaker asks after Pansy has disappeared from view.

"Major Parkinson is a fine Hit Wizard. She is a rising star in the department and she is hungry for it after Wood slipped through her grasp."

"It is precisely that slip that I am concerned about, General."

"That slip would not have occurred if _your_ agent hadn't gone off the rails, _Director_." Dempsey's tone is mocking as she addresses Croaker by his title.

"Don't pin this on me, Amelia," Croaker snaps. "No one saw this coming." He shakes his head. He looks tired as he runs a hand through his thinning hair. "I don't have a bloody clue why he did this, and I've spoken to his partner, and it seems like Potter was in the dark as well."

"Or so he tells you."

"What reason do we have to doubt Potter?" General Dempsey considers this.

"None, I suppose," she says at last. "How is he taking it?"

"Poorly."

"I can only imagine. Were they close?"

"Wood was Potter's partner almost from the start. They made an amazing team, which was odd considering they were probably the two most high profile wizards on my team."

"I'm still surprised you paired them together, Saul."

"You would have too, if you'd seen the way they interacted in training. They practically finished each other's-"

"-Sandwiches?" Dempsey allows a small smirk to cross her face and Croaker gives her a grateful smile. He checks his watch.

"I'm going to go check on the portkey team," he says. Dempsey nods at him and he strides out of the room.

…

"Thank you, and have a nice day," Draco says and waves merrily as the last customers, a family of four, leave the store. He quickly shuts the door behind them. Big Dick walks over and seals the door with his personal lock, which only he can open, and they are done for the day.

"Excellent job, team," Big Dick starts to say, but most of the employees have already started to leave, moving as soon as the front doors were shut. Only Draco, Greg and Emma have stayed behind. Draco hears faint yells of "pub!" from the vicinity of the break room. He figures he will join them there later, but he has to get in his evening run first, even though the day has tired him out to the point that he would really rather skip it.

"Same time tomorrow then?" Big Dick asks the three of them.

"Not for me," Emma says. "I don't work Saturdays." Her face splits into a grin. "Hooray for weekends! See you lot on Monday." She turns and quickly makes her way to the back of the store, leaving Draco and Greg in an awkward almost circle with Big Dick.

Draco's weekend so to speak is on Sunday and Monday, so he just nods wearily. He decides then that his evening run is not happening. He is too damn tired.

"Right-o, boss," Greg says. He salutes. Draco rolls his eyes at him. Greg has come a long way since Hogwarts, but his impulse to follow orders from the most important person around him has been harder to shake. Draco reaches up and put his arm around Greg's shoulder. It is a difficult feat as Greg is a good six inches taller than Draco.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go to the pub." They wave at Big Dick and then leave the front room of the store, weaving their way through bookshelves until they reach the break room.

"Don't you usually go running in the evenings?" Greg asks as they open their individual lockers. Their lockers are next to each other. Greg's is covered in Hollyhead Harpies stickers, whereas Draco's has half of a Puddlemere United Sticker, which he has tried to tear off but it has ripped partway through removing it.

"I don't want to go on my sodding run tonight," Draco says, wrenching open the door to his locker. "I'm too sodding tired." Greg grunts his understanding. Draco pulls out his jacket and swaps it for his Flourish and Blotts robes, which he hangs carefully in his locker. Once Greg is ready, they both turn and leave the store and head towards the Leaky Cauldron, only stopping briefly as they pass their house so that Draco can drop off his bag of unused running clothes.

…

Pansy finds that taking her frustration out on the training room's punching bag is a good way to unwind. And today is most definitely a day when she needs it. She replays the scene in her head over and over as she bounces on her toes in front of the bag. If she had just been a bit faster. If she had thought to disarm him. If. If. If.

 _Whack_. She throws her weight behind the punch and the bag jerks on its chain.

She is the only person in the training room, which is probably for the best. If anyone else had been there, she would have asked them to spar with her and she is not in the mood for explaining to General Dempsey the reason behind why she might have sent someone to the medical floor. She is sure that Dempsey knows how frustrated she is with herself and with the situation, but it is easier not to have to have the conversation.

Pansy knows she needs to clear her head. She needs to put this behind her. Agent Wood was a good agent, which is the only reason he was able to do what he did. It is not all on Pansy's head that The Reliquary is gone. And Pansy knows that. Wood was well prepared for the mission and he was prepared to die for it too, and Pansy knows that it can be near impossible to stop someone who is willing to die for a cause.

 _Thump_. This time she kicks the bag, bringing her leg up as high as she can in the process. She nearly throws herself off balance but she manages to steady herself. Some of the adrenaline is starting to fade now. Instead she feels tiredness creep across her. She wants nothing more than to go home, change into her comfiest pajamas and curl up on the sofa with a glass of whisky to nurse her pride. But there is work to be done once the techs come back with whatever they can glean.

She takes one last halfhearted punch at the bag and then lowers her arms. She supposes she should get some rest while she can as she has no idea how late she will be in the office today. She brings her gloved hand up to her mouth and rips open the Velcro with her teeth before pulling it off. After removing her other glove, she tugs her pony tail holder out of her hair and runs her fingers through it. Her hair is stringy and damp with sweat. It sticks to her palms as she winds it into a bun which she secures on the top of her head. She takes one last look around the training center and then heads to the locker room.

…

About seven years ago, The Leaky Cauldron, which for hundreds of years leading up to the Second Wizarding War had not changed its decor in the slightest, had undergone a remodel. Tom, the old barkeep had finally passed away, leaving the pub to his niece, Hannah Abbott.

Draco had not known Hannah well in school, more known of her. She had been a Hufflepuff and so their paths had not crossed often, aside from lessons. Draco had not gone out of his way to make friends outside of his house during school. In fact if he were being honest with himself, the main interactions Draco had had with non-Slytherins had been his fights with the Golden Trio, which explained his distinct shortage of post-war friends.

Just over seven years ago, Hannah, newly minted as the owner and manager of the pub, had come across Draco drinking alone in the corner of the bar and struck up a conversation with him. Draco had been in the Wizengamot all that day, listening to his father's testimony, so his nerves were frayed and his emotions were raw. He had been hiding in the dark corner of the bar for a reason, but she was so earnest and kind that he had found himself chatting to her anyway. Several drinks in, she confided in him that she had been less than enthused to inherit the (in her words) 'moldy old place' but Uncle Tom's will had been very clear that he had wanted her to have it. Draco, also a few drinks in now and feeling less maudlin, had enthusiastically said she should most definitely keep it, and perhaps update it. And would you know who happened to have a decently good eye for these things and little to nothing else to do? Why, Draco of course.

They had become fast friends and soon Draco was spending most of his free time at the Leaky Cauldron, helping Hannah with everything from reupholstering the booths to re-wallpapering the guest rooms. When his father's trial ended and both of his parents had moved back to Malfoy Manor, Draco had decided it was high time he left home. He had just turned twenty one and his trust fund had finally matured and come into his possession. Even after the various fines and barristers fees, he'd had enough money to put a deposit down on his own Mews House in one of the alleys behind the Cauldron. Coincidentally, it was the house across from Hannah's.

He had worked behind the bar with Hannah for a few years until he realized that few people wanted their drinks served by an ex-Death Eater (even though he had only been 16 when he'd received the Mark and hadn't really had much of a say in the whole thing). She had generously split her tips with him, but after looking around the bar one evening and seeing a long stretch of patrons waiting for Hannah to serve them and only the most regular of regulars waiting for Draco, he had decided to find another job. Which was how he had ended up at Flourish and Blotts.

Was it what he had envisioned himself doing while he was at Hogwarts? No. But did it pay the bills? Yes. And once Big Dick had hired Draco, he had agreed to take on a subdued Greg Goyle, freshly back from a three year stint at Azkaban, which gave Draco both a roommate and someone to help pay the mortgage.

So really, Draco thinks he cannot complain. Or, well, he could complain, but it would seem ungrateful. Could things be better? Sure. Would it be better if he had a boyfriend? Probably. Does Hannah often nag him about getting a better job or a promotion or a boyfriend? Definitely. But for the most part Draco is content.

Hannah waves to Draco and Greg as they enter the Cauldron and immediately begins to pull a couple of pints for them.

"Ta," Draco says, sitting down on one of the bar stools. She puts the two pints on the bar and Draco picks one up and takes a large gulp. He had not realized how dry his throat is until the beer hits his mouth and he takes another big sip before putting the beer down again.

"Thirsty much?" Hannah asks.

"It's the First of August," Greg says by way of explanation. Hannah frowns at them.

"Hogwarts letter day," Draco clarifies. He takes another quaff of his beer.

"Ah, no wonder you both look shattered then." She glances at her watch. "Hmm, give me about twenty minutes and then the evening staff will be here. Then we can all go round to my place for Chinese food or something. Does that sound good?" Hiring staff to work the evening hours so that Hannah did not have to had been one Draco's favorite ideas.

"Sounds perfect," Draco says. He picks up his now half empty glass and holds it out to Greg. "Cheers." Greg clinks his glass against Draco's.

* * *

Feedback is appreciated :)


	2. Draco Versus The Reliquary

Harry Potter is having a shit day. And that is putting it mildly. It might be fair to call it the worst day since the end of the second wizarding war, which in all fairness definitely ranks up there with really shit days. Granted, the end of the second wizarding war was bittersweet as well, as that fucking asshole was finally dead and the Death Eaters had relinquished their control of the government. But in terms of loss of life, it had been really bloody awful. Obviously.

And now this day is turning out to be pretty shit too. Perhaps not as bad, because only one person died, but as Harry and Oliver had been more than just partners, it really ranks up there.

Harry blinks back a tear as he thinks about what they had been talking about over breakfast. It had been so casual. They had been excited about the fact that tomorrow was Saturday and they had the whole weekend to do nothing but sleep late, eat whatever they wanted, and, well, fuck a lot. It had been Harry's birthday yesterday and Oliver had promised him an entire weekend of debauchery. Because if there was one thing they did well together, it was sex. Not that they were strictly supposed to be sleeping together, but it wasn't strictly forbidden either.

He knows he needs to pull himself together. Croaker is going to need him for the investigation into why his partner went rogue. Harry had known Oliver was a good spy, but Merlin he hadn't thought he was so good as to catch Harry with his trousers down like this. Harry had thought they talked to each other about most things, but clearly there had been parts of Oliver's life that Harry didn't know anything about. On top of everything else, that stings.

He is glad that he was not in the office when he heard about Oliver's death. He is not sure how well he would have held his emotions in check. He is, of course, trained to keep himself calm under pressure, but he is only human and this news hurts a lot.

Harry wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed, and inhale the scent of Oliver that he knows is still on the duvet. But Croaker had called him in to deal with the mess that Oliver had left behind and Harry can't afford for his boss to find out about their ill advised relationship, even if it was involuntarily cut short. So Harry needs to be the consummate professional. He takes a deep, steadying breath as he walks down the corridor to Croaker's office.

"What is the latest?" he asks once he is standing in front of the man. Harry almost does a double take as he looks at his boss. Croaker is not carrying the stress of the situation well. Harry can see his hair sticking up from where he has run his hands through it multiple times and there are deep furrows in his brows.

"The port key team has isolated the house in question appears to belong to a civilian, though we are not sure who that civilian is just yet. Beryl has gone to fetch the property records."

"Do you need any eyes on the ground? I am happy to stake out the building." In fact, a stakeout will be perfect, Harry thinks. It will take his mind off of things. Croaker considers this for a second before nodding and rummaging around his desk for a pen. He scribbles the coordinates down on a piece of paper.

"Yes, if you watch the house concurrently with us getting the records, perhaps you can get an idea of whether or not Wood had any prior contact with this person. Apparate to the nearest street and watch the door." Croaker hands the paper to Harry who nods and turns to leave. "Oh, and Potter." He stops. "I'm sorry. I know this must be hard on you. It's never easy to lose a partner." Harry does not trust himself to say anything, so he just nods once and then leaves Croaker's office.

He pulls out his wand and taps his watch as he walks down the corridor. A 3D rendering of London appears above it, centered on where Harry is now. His eyes flick down to the coordinates in his other hand and he waves his wand at the rendering while concentrating on them. The map moves and a small blinking dot appears in a tiny translucent building. Harry prods the image with his wand and the view moves in towards the dot, other buildings and street names coming into focus. Harry scans the surrounding streets for a moment and then nods to himself.

Increasing his pace, he strides, now with purpose, towards the exit. Once outside, he finds the first alleyway that he can, looks around quickly to make sure there are no Muggles about, and then apparates with a small pop.

A brief stop at his house - very brief - just enough time to pick up his invisibility cloak which is his most valuable piece of (possibly not sanctioned) spy equipment, not enough time to get emotional - and then Harry apparates to a quiet street, a few streets over from his mark. He slips under the invisibility cloak and begins to walk.

As luck would have it, two men step out of the house question just as Harry rounds the corner of the street. He sucks in a breath as he sees who it is. Well that answers the question about prior contact. It's Oliver's sodding ex-boyfriend.

Harry grinds his teeth and thinks there is no way that this day can get any worse. Happy fucking birthday, Harry. Grumbling to himself, Harry begins to tail the two men.

…

By the time Draco and Greg stumble back across the alleyway to their own house, they are both three sheets to the wind. Once they had gotten to Hannah's, they split a of bottle of wine between the three of them. When Hannah's boyfriend, Ernie MacMillen showed up (Hannah and Ernie, the Hogwarts sweethearts, did not help with Draco's preconceptions about Hufflepuffs), they opened another one. The promised Chinese food never materialized and instead they threw together some spaghetti dish out of things found in Hannah's kitchen. Finally around eleven thirty, Draco glanced at his watch and called an end to the evening.

"You up for a game of exploding gobstones snap?" Greg now asks as they burst through the door into their house. It is a game that involves exploding snap cards and gobstones and a host of convoluted rules that they had invented on a night similar to this during which they had been equally as intoxicated. Draco'd had the brilliant sense to set up a self writing quill to copy down the rules they would otherwise have forgotten while they played and thus exploding gobstones snap had been created. (They are still working on a better name for it.)

"I think I'm going to call it a night," Draco says. "We do have work in the morning, after all."

"Suit yourself." Greg makes his way to the back of the mews house, where his room is, while Draco turns and heads upstairs.

Draco's room is at the top of the house, on the fourth floor, under the eaves. In reality, the whole floor is his, though the floor consists of just a landing, his bedroom, and a small bathroom. This evening the stairs feel like they take forever and his feet feel as though they are made of lead. He blames the man with the giant bloody pockets and sticky fingers for this exhaustion. It feels good to blame someone.

He freezes as he reaches the top of the stairs and sees the landing of his floor. There is a large box sitting in the middle of the floor. Draco may be tired and drunk but he knows he did not leave a giant box in the middle of the floor. Carefully he draws his wand from the holster he wears around his waist. Then he proceeds with caution towards the box.

As he nears it, he realizes that there is a watch sitting on top of it. And it is a watch he recognizes. He breathes in sharply. It's Oliver's watch. He hasn't seen Oliver since around the time he started at Flourish and Blotts, but he would know that watch face anywhere. The number of times he had lain in Oliver's arms, playing idly with the dials and watching the planets move about the face. He takes a step backward. He does not know why Oliver has seemingly sent him a mysterious package, but the year spent trapped in Malfoy Manor with the (other) Death Eaters has made him wary, even now, almost ten years on.

He tries to run down the stairs, only to be impeded by the alcohol in his system. He stumbles down the last few stairs and falls heavily onto the landing, twisting his ankle on the final stair. His wand flies out of his hand and clatters away down the landing, out of reach. He suddenly feels quite sober.

"Greg," he calls, wincing as tries to stand and put weight on his leg. He collapses back to the floor. His ankle hurts in a way that makes Draco think that it is sprained at the very least. Even if he weren't worried about the mysterious box upstairs and thus want Greg's help investigating it, he would now need help getting up the stairs to go to bed.

Something in his voice must alert Greg to the fact that something is not right because a second later he hears his friend's thunderous footfalls coming towards him up the stairs. As he reaches the third floor, Draco sees his wand is drawn.

"What is it?" Greg asks. His eyes rake the corridor as if he expects there to be an intruder there. Finding no one, he drops his eyes to Draco who is still sprawled on the floor. "Are you ok?" Draco shakes his head.

"I fell down the stairs. Or more accurately, the stair." Greg lowers his wand and crouches down next to Draco. "I hurt my ankle and my wand went flying somewhere over there." Draco points down the corridor. Greg nods and waves his wand in the direction Draco points.

"Accio Draco's wand," he says and the wand flies over from where it had landed. Greg grabs it out of the air and hands it to Draco.

"Thanks," Draco says. He points his wand down at his ankle. "Episkey." Instantly the pain that had been growing steadily while he had been sitting there dissipates. Greg straightens up and pulls Draco to his feet.

"What were you running down the stairs for?" Greg asks.

"A funny thing happened," Draco starts to say.

"On the way to the forum?" Greg hazards.

"Yes, that's exactly right."

"Really?" Greg looks pleased with himself. Draco rolls his eyes.

"No," he snaps. "There is a strange box upstairs."

"Strange how?"

"Strange as in I didn't put it there. It just appeared." Greg frowns and eyes the stairs nervously.

"Should we firecall someone about it?" Draco can't believe he did not think to do that and almost smacks a hand to his forehead but stops himself at the last moment. Draco has no idea where Oliver is or could be and so could not even call him if he had wanted to. They had lost touch when they had broken up, and Draco has had no notion as to where Oliver had moved to after he left Puddlemere United. For some reason the Daily Prophet had declined to list his new address in all their coverage of his leaving the team. Privacy and all that.

"There's no one to call," Draco says finally. "I know who the box is from, or at least I think I do. But I don't know how to contact him." Greg cocks his head to the side and frowns down at Draco.

"Well, if you know who it's from, then what's the issue?" Draco sits down heavily on the bottom stair.

"The problem is that I don't know why he's sending me anything. He broke my heart, not the other way around." Draco can't keep the note of hurt from his voice. A small part of him wants to cry, but this is not the time. Comprehension dawns on Greg's face.

"It's from Wood?" he asks. Draco nods. "But why would he be sending you something after so long?"

"That's precisely what I'm wondering. And that's why I am so alarmed."

"But how did it even get here?"

"That's another good question." Draco thinks that Greg is full of good questions tonight. Not for the first time, Draco is glad that Greg agreed to be his housemate, even though it could be argued that Draco had been the one doing Greg the favor.

"Well, should we go look at it?" Draco nods and stands. They make their way slowly up the stairs. Draco is still being gentle with his ankle, even though the healing charm has taken care of most of it.

The box is exactly where it was before. Not that he thought that it would move, but they're wizards and stranger things have happened. After all, the box had shown up here of its own accord. He and Greg both stare at it from about four paces away. After a moment Greg breaks the silence.

"How do you know it's from Wood?" he asks. Draco points to the watch that is still sitting atop the box.

"That was his watch." His voice catches slightly in his throat and he prays that Greg does not notice. Greg begins to move his wand through the air, staring at something that Draco can't see as he does. Draco does not ask where Greg learned how to perform that sort of magical analysis. He is sure the answer would have something to do with Greg's time as the Amycus Carrow's teacher's pet in his Seventh Year at Hogwarts. That time is not a topic they discuss frequently, as both of them are still working to put it behind themselves.

"It's a portkey," Greg says finally, lowering his wand again. "The watch is a portkey. Or, more accurately, it was. It's deactivated now."

"Can you tell where it came from?" Draco asks but Greg shakes his head.

"Only that it was spelled to come here, to these precise coordinates."

"Of course," Draco says, mostly to himself. Those were the coordinates he had given Oliver so that he could apparate into the house without anyone seeing him.

Their relationship had been during the height of Oliver's Quidditch popularity, and the Daily Prophet gossip witches seemed to stalk the star wherever he went. He had been Quidditch Today's most eligible bachelor, which Draco had thought was hilarious as Oliver most definitely had not been single. And of course he could not be seen with Draco, who was still tainted in the eyes of the public. So they had met in secret.

The first night they met, of course, was in public. Oliver had come to the Leaky Cauldron and spent the first half of his evening fending off overly flirtatious witches. Draco had been tending bar and had noticed the steady stream of women walking over to one corner of the bar and minutes later walking away looking dejected.

Recognizing Wood from school, he had invited him into the new VIP room that he had created and which he had been trying to convince Hannah was a good idea. Wood had been grateful to escape the adoring (annoying) public and had asked Draco to sit with him in the empty VIP room. (It had been a few months before the idea really caught on.) Somehow Draco's clumsy flirting must have worked because a few drinks later, Draco had found himself pinned against the wall with Oliver's mouth on his. He thinks he must have given him the apparition coordinates that night because almost every evening after that, Oliver would turn up on his landing and they would spend the night together. Until, of course, the night when he stopped coming and had never contacted Draco again.

The memory is still fresh in his mind even though it has been several years now. Draco feels a stab of longing go through him and he looks away from the box. and the watch. Greg has been watching him. He must notice a shift in Draco, perhaps a slight slump to his posture, because he reaches out a hand and rests it on Draco's shoulder. He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't ask how Oliver knew the coordinates. He just stands there with Draco, supporting him.

Once Draco has a handle on his emotions, he takes a step towards the box. Greg moves with him. Greg has his wand raised again. Draco decides to throw less caution to the wind. He doesn't think Oliver would want to hurt him. Or at least, he fervently hopes Oliver wouldn't want to hurt him. Draco had said nothing about their breakup, not that he had seen Oliver again to say anything. It had been shortly after he stopped coming over that he quite suddenly quit Puddlemere United and became a recluse. Draco knows he is not the only one who hasn't seen or heard from Oliver in several years.

The box does nothing as he approaches it. It just sits there, box-like and unmoving. Draco decides to just bite the bullet. He walks the last few feet to the box, crouches down next to it and picks up the watch. Before he can stop himself, he lifts it to his nose. It smells like Oliver's cologne. Draco recognizes it instantly and falls backwards onto his arse, all the energy draining out of him. It is so sudden - it almost feels like being punched in the gut. He feels Greg's hand on his shoulder again, this time from above.

"It's definitely from Oliver," Draco says. "I gave him these coordinates when we first started dating. If you could call it dating." Draco is no longer sure he would call it that. The only dates they ever had were here in the house, when Draco would cook dinner or they would order take out. But he supposes that was all that Oliver could do. He sighs and Greg squeezes his shoulder.

"So are you going to open it?" Greg asks.

Draco nods and sets the watch down. He reaches over and opens the box. Inside is a large book. Draco reaches in and lifts it out of the box. From the feel of it, it is bound in dragon hide. The pages are gold-leafed. The title on the front reads 'The Reliquary' in large, serifed letters, also in gold. Draco frowns at the book. Holding it in his hands, the book feels powerful. He wonders why Oliver has sent it to him. Could it be because he works at Flourish and Blotts?

"Huh," Greg says. "Interesting." His tone says he finds it anything but that. Greg does not work at Flourish and Blotts for his love of books the way that Draco does. Greg works there because it is a job.

"It is interesting though," Draco says. He holds the book up to Greg. "Feel it."

Greg reaches out a hand and touches the book. He brings his hand back quickly as though it has been burned and he stares at the book with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"I don't like it," Greg says. "It feels wrong."

"It feels powerful," Draco says.

"I don't think you should read it."

"Greg, it's just a book."

"It doesn't feel like it's just a book."

"Fair point." Draco put the book back into the box. "What do you think I should do with it?" Greg shrugs.

"I dunno," he says. "Ask Wood why he sent it to you? Take it to work and see if any of the boffins there know anything about it? Either way, I wouldn't open it."

"Not even a peek?" Now that Greg has suggested that he not read the book, Draco really wants to read the book. It is the same feeling he had when he was a child, when his parents told him he should not read at night and instead go to sleep. He had done precisely the opposite and stayed up far beyond his bedtime, reading under the covers, consumed by the need to read just one more page and then another, until it snowballed into just one more chapter and so forth. He had come down each morning with bags under his eyes until his mother snuck in one night, caught him at it and grounded him for a week.

"Not even a peek," Greg says. He reaches up and yawns. "You should sleep." And he's said the magic words. The words that mean that Draco will not sleep, but instead will look at the book and just read a couple of pages. But Greg doesn't know it.

"Fine," Draco says, lying so that Greg will leave and let the subject drop. He closes the top of the box. "I'll ask Mr Blotts about it tomorrow, if he pays us his usual 'surprise' Saturday visit." He picks himself up off of the floor. Greg stands near the stairs, unsure if he should leave yet.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asks. Draco gives him a small smile and nods.

"I'll be fine. And everything will be better in the morning."

"It always is." Greg starts to descend, but Draco stops him.

"Hey Greg?" Greg looks up.

"Yep?"

"Thank you," Draco says. He tries to fill his words with the amount of gratitude he feels towards his friend. He is not sure he manages that, but he thinks Greg understands either way.

"Anytime. Sleep well." And then he disappears around the turn in the stairs.

Draco waits until he hears Greg walk down the third flight of stairs to the ground floor before he walks back over to the book. Pulling it back out of the box, he feels the thrill in the pit of his stomach that comes from knowing he is doing something he shouldn't be doing. The book thrums in his hands. He starts to open it and then stops himself.

Instead, he walks into his bedroom and places the book on his bed. If he is going to read a book he's not supposed to read at a time when he should instead be sleeping, he is going to do it properly. Quickly, he takes off his clothes until he is wearing just his boxers and goes through his evening ablutions. It is only when he is tucked up in bed, propped up against the pillows, that he picks the book up again.

He takes a moment to admire the cover, tracing a finger over the gold-embossed lettering. It really is a gorgeous book. If Oliver sent it to him because he thought Draco would admire it, he was spot on. Draco is damn well infatuated with it.

Dry mouthed with anticipation, Draco opens the front cover.

And then it is as though a demon possesses him. He reads each page feverishly, unable to look away. He barely blinks as he devours the contents of the book. He cannot quite say what it is about - he is hardly aware that he is reading it. He only knows that it is imperative that he should not stop reading until he reaches the end.

Page after page, Draco reads as though he is a man trapped in the desert and the words are water. The words are life. The words are power. The words are like oxygen and he needs them to live. They pour into his mind, even if he does not comprehend them. Pages turn as if of their own free will as the words march into his brain.

Outside, the moon rises and sets. Stars move through the sky. The world turns.

As dawn's pale fingers begin to stretch across the sky, Draco finally sets the book down. He has read the entire thing in one sitting. He takes a deep, steadying breath, and then immediately falls asleep, his head finally falling back against his pillow. He does not see the pages of the book tear themselves out of the spine, fly up into the air and disappear until he is left with nothing but an empty cover.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated. :)


	3. Draco Versus The Nemesis

Draco is more than unhappy to be woken by his alarm clock a mere two hours after he has fallen asleep. He scrabbles around on his side table for his wand and tries to banish the damn thing across the room. But a well rested Draco of several years ago had anticipated this scenario and applied a permanent sticking charm to the clock. Grumbling, Draco drops his wand again and hits the clock with his fist until it stops clanging.

He slowly opens his eyes, convinced that he is hungover. He grimaces as he looks around the room, searching for the glass of water he usually leaves on his nightstand after drinking. His bedside light is still on and he realizes he never turned it off before falling asleep. And then he notices the book, and memories of the night before wash over him.

"Oh shit," he says. He scoops up the now empty cover of the book and stares at the two flaps, while his mind tries (and fails) to understand what happened to the pages. He is suddenly very much awake, even if he is exhausted.

He scrambles out from under his duvet and begins looking around the room as though the missing pages might be hiding somewhere. They are not. He stops and stands perfectly still in the middle of the room. He looks around slowly as if the pages are just playing a game with him and he will be able to spot them if he catches them unawares. This is also not the case. He almost yells for Greg, but stops himself when he realizes that if he does that, he is going to have to tell Greg that he read the book even when Greg said to leave it alone. And he can't even remember what the book was about.

He remembers finishing the book, sure. He remembers reading the book, and that insatiable need to inhale the words off of the page. But for the life of him, he does not remember any of the content. He glares at the empty cover of the book, which lays open on the bed. He feels like the book is mocking him and he does not like it. He picks up the cover and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall with a dull thud and then falls to the floor. Draco hurries over to it and examines it fearfully, in case he has damaged it. The book cover is fine. It is still inexplicably empty, but it is not damaged.

Draco sits down heavily on the end of his bed. He thinks he should never have opened the book. Damn it, but Greg was right. And now he does not know what to do with himself. He supposes he should get up and go to work and pretend that everything is fine until he can get home and examine the book again. Or, he supposes, what's left of the book.

He resolves not to tell Greg about what happened as he begins his morning routine. Instead, he turns on the wizarding wireless and sings loudly to the Boiling Cauldrons song that is playing, moving his hips in time to the beat while he waits for the shower water to reach a civilized temperature. He whistles along to the latest Deirdre Wurzbacher ballad as he washes his hair and as he does, he firmly tells himself that he is not thinking about the book. He continues dancing, this time to a classic by the Weird Sisters, as he dresses himself for work.

Once he's ready, he picks up the cover of the book and puts it back into the box it had arrived in. Then he puts that box into the built in cupboard that is nestled beneath the eaves at the far end of his landing. He tells himself to forget the book. What book? He doesn't know anything about any book. And he is most definitely _not_ tired from staying up all night reading one.

He almost steps on Oliver's watch as he makes his way towards the stairs. He stops, the watch in front of his feet, and he wonders what to do with it. After a moment's pause, he takes his own watch off, picks up Oliver's and slips it on his wrist. He is not sure why he does it, but if feels right that he does.

"Thank bloody Circe for coffee," he says as he enters the kitchen.

"You look like shit," Greg says, looking up from the copy of the Daily Prophet that is reading as he eats his cereal. "Merlin, Draco, we didn't have that much to drink, did we?"

"Couldn't sleep," Draco mumbles. He does not want to go into the details and thankfully Greg does not ask. He stumbles over to the pot of coffee that is sitting on the counter and pours himself a mug. He tries to take a big sip, but he burns his tongue and must make do with a smaller one. He opens the refrigerator, pulls out the milk and adds a large splash of it to the coffee. He takes another sip. The coffee is not as hot and so he is able to slurp more of it down, though his mouth still protests the heat.

"Hopefully it's a slow day today," Greg says. Draco says nothing, only nods. Perhaps if it _is_ a slow day, he can take a nap in the break room. He lifts his coffee back to his mouth and drinks several large mouthfuls. It is helping, but coffee can only help so much when you are running on two hours of sleep. If only he could remember what the book had been about, then perhaps the tiredness would feel like it had been worth it. But as much as he strains, he cannot remember a single sentence.

He pours himself some more coffee, refilling the mug to the top, and then gets himself a bowl of cereal before sitting down across the table from Greg. Greg turns the page and one of the pictures on the page he has just finished reading catches Draco's eye. The picture is of an older gentleman with a large, bushy, gray mustache. The man is waving at the camera as he enters a revolving door. Even without thinking about it, Draco knows that this man is Heilgar Mottić, a high ranking Croatian diplomat with ties to some shady figures.

Before he can say anything, Greg has finished turning the page and is smoothing the paper down so that he can continue reading. Draco stares into his cereal, unsure of what has just happened. If you had asked him yesterday, he is decently sure he would say that he had never heard of this Heilgar Mottić fellow, but now Draco can tell you the man's shoe size (45), height (1.7m) and the name of his two ex-wives (Rita and Natàlia). He supposes he must have read it somewhere, perhaps in passing. He frowns at his cereal and takes another bite. Greg does not notice anything out of the ordinary.

Draco is still in a strange mood as they make their way over to Flourish and Blotts thirty minutes later. He has a slight case of the too much coffee jitters, but he still feels incredibly tired. It is a terrible combination. And he is still feeling unsettled about knowing the man in the newspaper. He had refused to look at the Prophet again during breakfast in case it had happened again.

And of course, Big Dick is far too chipper when they enter the store. He has been buoyed by the success of yesterday and begins nattering on in Draco's ear the moment that he sees him about promotional ideas and events he wants to throw. Draco tries to listen, he really does, but most of what Big Dick says goes in one ear and out the other. He is just _too tired_.

Thankfully, the morning is quite slow, as most Saturday mornings are, so Draco manages to find time to sneak in an hour long nap, from which he emerges feeling better if not necessarily refreshed. Business picks up somewhat in the afternoon as some Hogwarts stragglers come for their textbooks. Draco has a particularly difficult time with one family who have four Hogwarts aged children, all of whom have some irritating foible or another. By the time they finally leave, Draco is on his last nerve, so when none other than the irritating git who goes by the name of Harry Potter strides into the store, nearly running into the family as they leave, Draco is in no mood to be polite.

He glares over at Potter as the prick slowly looks around the store. Draco is surprised that no one else has noticed him yet. The last time he had seen Saint Potter, the man had been surrounded by various hangers on. Granted, Potter is wearing a hat which obscures his scar, but Draco had picked him out of the crowded store immediately.

Circe, it has probably been seven or eight years since Draco last saw Potter. It would stand to reason that things had changed in that time. Draco thinks that the last he heard about Potter was that he was working as some sort of Auror for the Ministry. But when Potter looks over at him, and Draco takes his face in properly for the first time, Draco knows, with that same odd certainty that he had this morning, that Potter is more than just an Auror: he is an Unspeakable.

Draco frowns. He is concerned both that he knows this, and also that no one has told Potter that being a spy is a terrible career choice for someone who's face is known all over the wizarding world. But he supposes Potter probably threw some sort of strop and made them make him an Unspeakable anyway. That seems like a very Potter thing to do.

Potter spots him and starts to walk towards him. Draco's eyes go wide with what he quickly realizes is fright and he scampers off in the direction of the break room, pushing Greg in Potter's path as he goes.

He has almost made it there when he hears Potter call his name.

"Oi, Malfoy." Well shit. His distraction tactic hadn't worked. Not that he thought it would.

He turns slowly to face the brown haired git. Potter sidesteps Greg who gives him a curious look as he passes, and makes his way to towards Draco at the back of the store. Potter has let someone, probably that Granger woman, fix his eyesight and even at this distance his green eyes look bright without any lenses in front of them. Draco nibbles his lip and pushes away any thoughts of Potter being attractive, even if it is objectively true. He's not _that_ desperate for a boyfriend. Not that Potter would want him. He never had, why would he start now?

Draco grinds his teeth, irritated that these teenage rejections still haunt him. Particularly as he also has to remind himself that they weren't rejections. Potter had hated him. He had never even considered Draco as anything but an enemy. Of course he would never look at Draco in a sexual manner. Even if he did swing that way. Which Draco is sure he doesn't.

Draco takes a deep, steadying breath and then plasters a smile on his face. _The customer is always right,_ Big Dick's voice rings in his head. He will be damned if he is going to let the git ruin any chances of him being assistant manager. Even if he hasn't yet applied to the position.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," he says. "Welcome to Flourish and Blotts." He is aware that his smile does not reach his eyes, but he is too irritated and _far_ too bloody tired to care. "How can I help you?" Draco takes a step towards Potter, fully taking in his appearance as he does.

Potter looks good. Really good. The last time Draco had seen him, Potter had been scrawny and pale, barely out of his teenage years and had looked too skinny for his broad frame. Now he has filled it out with muscle. Potter is wearing a black polo shirt, the cut of which shows off his biceps, tucked into grey pleated trousers. The only splash of color on him is his belt, which is crimson with small golden yellow stripes. Because of course Potter would have a bloody Gryffindor belt. Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes. He quickly looks away from Potter's crotch as he doesn't want anybody getting the wrong (or is it right?) idea were they to catch him staring.

"I am looking for a book," Potter says. Draco gives him a curt nod.

"Then you have come to the right place." He opens his arms wide and gestures around the store at the shelves upon shelves of books. "We sell books."

"Was that Goyle I saw back there?" Potter asks, stepping even closer to Draco.

"Yes."

"It's nice to see he seems to be adjusting well outside of Azkaban."

"It took him a while, but, yes, he's doing fine now." He does not add that it's no thanks to Potter, although for all he knows, Potter helped Greg get a reduced sentence. It's not something that he and Greg talk about much. What is past is past and all that. Draco looks around, anywhere but at Potter's face.

"Good, good."

"You said you wanted a book?" Draco says after a long moment of silence, during which Draco looked at bookshelves and Potter looked at Draco, trying to make eye contact, a small smile playing across his face.

"I did, didn't I?" Draco turns back to Potter in irritation.

"Potter, we're not at Hogwarts anymore. Stop dicking around. Do you want a book or not?"

"I'm not dicking around," Potter exclaims. A look of mock outrage crosses his face. "I most definitely came in here with the intention of buying a book."

"Oh yeah?" Draco sneers. "Which one?" He crosses his arms across his chest and glares at Potter. Potter smirks back at him. Draco ignores the way that this makes his pulse pick up.

"This one," Potter says, reaching out a hand and pulling a book off of the nearest shelf. He does not take his eyes off of Draco. Draco drops his gaze to look at the book Potter has chosen. He snorts with laughter. Potter glares at him and clutches _Prefects Who Gained Power_ to his chest.

"You weren't even a prefect," Draco manages to say in between chuckles. He snatches the book from Potter and reads the back aloud. "'A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers. Recently updated to include a special section on legacy families.' Oh shit, this means I might be in there." He opens the book and begins flicking through the pages.

"Would you say this counts as having power?" Potter asks, gesturing around the store. His tone is light and he clearly means it as banter, but Draco is offended either way. He stops reading and instead uses the book to whack Potter on the side of the arm.

"Clearly ten years has done nothing for your manners," he says. He sticks his nose in the air and begins to walk away. Potter grabs him by the arm and pulls him back.

"Wait, Malfoy," he says. Draco stops and turns to face the brunet git again.

"What?" he snaps. He wants this interaction with Potter to be over as soon as humanly possible, but Potter seems determined to make it drag on.

"You're still holding my book." Draco scowls and shoves the book back at Potter. "Thank you." Draco turns and attempts to leave again, but again Potter grabs his arm.

"What is it with you?" Draco growls as he spins around for the second time. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" He is attempting to keep his temper in control - he is at work after all - but Potter is making it very difficult.

"Ok, you got me," Potter says. He holds his hands up in surrender. "I admit it. I'm not here to buy a book."

"I knew it," Draco hisses. "You _did_ just come in here to mess around and piss me off. God, Potter, you're so transparent. And childish. What are you? Twelve?"

"No, Malfoy. I am twenty eight. I am also not here to piss you off. Quite the opposite in fact. I had come in here to ask you on a date, but it seems that _you_ are the one who who hasn't grown up any since Hogwarts." He turns and begins to walk out of the store. Draco stands, gobsmacked, for a moment and then hurries after him. He catches up with Potter as he emerges onto Diagon Ally.

"Wait," he calls. Potter spins around. "I," he starts to say and then his voice catches in his throat. He clears it and tries again. "I'm sorry." Saying these words to Potter is difficult, but not as difficult as he had previously thought it might be. "I was out of line. I'm a bit tired today."

Potter arches an eyebrow at him and it's all Draco can do not to swoon. That was _his_ facial expression of choice at Hogwarts (that and the smirk) and Potter can now pull it off so well. Or, perhaps he could in school, but Draco never saw it past his glasses. Or Draco didn't see it because he and Potter were arch-enemies and the only facial expressions Potter had ever made at him were those of disgust or anger. When all he had secretly ever wanted was for Harry to be his friend. Or, if he is feeling honest with himself (which is not often) more than his friend. And now he has the opportunity to make that happen. He wants to pinch himself to make sure that he isn't dreaming. He had hardly slept the night before, so he supposes this _could_ be a dream. Is he still asleep on the couch in the break room?

"So, are you saying you would like go to on that date?" Potter asks after a long pause. Draco nods.

"Yes, Potter," he says. "I would." Potter's face breaks into a smile. Draco gets butterflies in his stomach. In all of the fantasies in which he had envisioned this might happen, it had never gone so smoothly, or fast. Perhaps it is this that convinces him most of all that he is awake.

"Great," Potter says. "That's great." He shifts from foot to foot.

"Uh, Potter," Draco says. "Are there any details aside from, 'at some point in the future we will go on a date' that I should be aware of?" Potter looks miles away for a moment before he comes back to the present.

"Right, that," Potter says. He gives a small, nervous laugh. Draco is not sure he has ever seen Potter nervous. He finds it endearing. "Are you free tonight?" Draco nods and waits for Potter to say more.

"Tell you what," Draco says after it becomes clear that Potter had not thought much farther than asking him out. "Why don't you stop by my house for a drink. I will make sure my roommate is out. And then we can go to dinner somewhere. How does that sound?" Draco hopes that this is low key enough that he won't get too nervous at the prospect of it. He can already feel the nerves starting to hit in the pit of his stomach and Potter is still standing in front of him. Potter gives him a grateful smile.

"That sounds wonderful. I'll make dinner reservations. Meet at six?" Draco takes a look at his - Oliver's - watch and nods.

"See you then, Potter says. "Nice watch by the way." And then Potter walks off. As he disappears into the crowd, Draco realizes he never gave Potter his address.

…

Harry is surprised at how much seeing Oliver's watch on Malfoy's wrist hurts him. He had known it was Oliver's watch at a glance. Of course he had. He wonders if it can still accept messages. Not that he is going to try that. A smile ghosts his lips as he imagines Malfoy's alarm at a message popping up on his wrist.

Although he feels like he should, Harry is not going to stop and evaluate his feelings when it comes to this whole situation. Because of something his late boyfriend had done, he is going on a date with said late boyfriend's ex-boyfriend, on whom Harry may have had a deeply denied crush, despite them being arch rivals in school? Yeah, he is not about to unpack his feelings about that right now.

But a mission is a mission and Croaker wants him to find out what happened to The Reliquary after it came into Malfoy's possession. Those had been Croaker's only instructions. He had been flailing towards the end of their conversation as their old rivalry had flared, when his subconscious had clearly taken over and asked Malfoy what he had perhaps secretly always wanted to ask him in school. And it seemed that maybe Malfoy had also secretly wanted that. Or, even if he had not wanted that _then_ , he seemingly did want that _now_.

So, now all Harry needs to do is get dinner reservations. Preferably somewhere in the Muggle world, away from Malfoy's comfort zone. And, a small part of Harry thinks, away from anywhere anyone who might recognize them. Particularly anyone from the DMLEHS.

Harry knows the DMLEHS have their own investigation into The Reliquary, but he knows Croaker would much prefer to wrap this up internally before there is some sort of interdepartmental incident. He is not sure whose jurisdiction The Reliquary technically falls under, as it was supposed to be a joint project between all of the departments. But Croaker had pointed out to Harry that Oliver had been an Unspeakable, and so fixing his mistake should be done by them. And as Harry is not interested in playing office politics, he will follow Croaker's orders and let the man deal with any unwanted consequences himself.

Harry figures he will take Draco to dinner near his house, as it is one of the few parts of London which he knows anything about. He casts through his mind and decides that the Chinese restaurant around the corner might be nice. It is certainly one of Harry's favorites and if Malfoy doesn't like it, well, it's not as though this is a real date anyway. He can go home and complain to Goyle.

He looks around and then ducks onto Malfoy's street. There is no one around, but Harry whips out his invisibility cloak anyway. It is midday and he is about to break into Malfoy's house, now that he is sure both he and Goyle are still at work.

After all, if Harry can recover The Reliquary now, there will be no need to even go on the date. A part of Harry - a part that Harry is studiously ignoring - still wants to go on said date, even though _most_ of Harry feels as though he is not going be ready for any sort of romantic entanglement any time in the near future. But Harry doesn't have time for emotions right now. He has a job to do.

He pulls out his wand and quickly runs some diagnostic spells over Malfoy's house. There are no obvious wards or security features, which Harry finds odd. He would have thought that someone of Malfoy's stature would have had at least a few shields or an alarm ward. But perhaps as the senior Malfoys have faded from public scrutiny, so has Draco? _Or,_ thinks Harry, _he has a more sophisticated system that my basic tests don't show_. He thinks this option is more likely, so he makes his way over to the stoop of the house and sits down to run the more complicated analyses.

Thirty minutes later, Harry discovers his hunch is right. The security spell is woven so carefully into the structural spells of the building that Harry would have missed them had he not been looking for them specifically. Harry curses under his breath. The spell is not one that he can easily break, nor is it one he can bypass without specific input from either Malfoy or Goyle. He is going to have to wait until tonight when he is invited inside for drinks. Harry sighs. He wonders if this is how vampires feel when they can't enter buildings. No wonder more of them aren't spies.

…

"He what?" Greg asks as Draco relays his interaction with Potter to him later that afternoon. They are loitering around the love magic section, which is generally quite sparsely populated, even on the busiest of days, which this Saturday is decidedly not.

"He asked me out," Draco repeats. "On a date. Tonight."

"Well, shit."

"Seriously."

"And you said yes?" Greg asks.

"Yes," Draco says. Greg frowns at him.

"Why?" he asks. Draco is not sure what to say. Now does not seem like the best time to explain his complicated mix of feelings that he has had and that he still has about Potter. Draco is not entirely sure he understands all of these feelings himself. On a normal day, he actively pushes them away.

"I figured why not," he says after a moment. "I haven't really seen anyone after Oliver left and perhaps it's time that I do."

"Even after Wood sent you that book? Couldn't that perhaps be a sign he wants to get back in contact with you?" Greg asks. "What happened to it by the way? I thought you were going to show it to Mr. Blotts?"

"Oh, I forgot to bring it in this morning," Draco says quickly. "Perhaps I will ask him next week." Greg frowns at him for a moment and Draco fights to keep his face impassive using some of his Occlumency skills he has rarely exercised since the War. Then Greg shrugs.

Draco has thought about the fact that the book may have been Oliver trying to reach out to him, but he has spent so much time pining over the man that the thought of seeing him again is just too painful. And then, of course, Potter had asked him out and Draco had entirely forgotten about Oliver and the book. He blames his short attention span on the fact that he is tired.

"So, a date with Potter?" Draco wishes he would let this drop, but Greg has every right to be curious. If someone had asked Draco yesterday if he would agree to go on a date with Saint Potter, he knows he probably would have questioned their sanity.

"Yes, which reminds me. I need you to not be home at 6pm." Greg raises his eyebrows and Draco swats him on the shoulder. "It's nothing like that, just drinks."

"At our house?"

"I don't know what I was thinking," Draco admits. It had just been the first private place he could think of. He regrets it now because he can see the parallels with Oliver. But he doesn't want the world to know he's dating Potter. Or, rather, going on a date with Potter. And while Potter was able to hide under his hat earlier, Draco is not sure that ruse will fool the Prophet for long.

His mind wanders back to the unexpected information his brain had supplied to him about Potter being an Unspeakable. He is not sure how he knew that and the sudden knowledge disturbs him. He is starting to think that this and the incident with the picture in the Prophet this morning may have something to do with that stupid book.

He is regretting having read it for multiple reasons now, not least of all that he is still tired from having stayed up for most of the night. And he has a date tonight. Great timing. He's going to be fighting off yawns all through dinner and Potter is going to think it's because Draco finds him boring. Although, if he spends any time talking about how amazing he is or how great he was in the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco thinks he will be resisting the urge to gag rather than yawn.

"I'm still confused as to why you agreed to go out with him in the first place," Greg says. He is clearly put out about the fact that he can't go straight home tonight. Draco knows he will get over it as soon as he gets to the Cauldron and sees Hannah, but there are hours to go until then and Draco has to put up with him in the meantime.

"You and Hannah are always pushing me to find someone," Draco says. "And now you're questioning the first date I've been on since Ian."

"Who was Ian?"

"The muggle?"

"Oh, right. He doesn't count. You only went on two dates." Draco had thought Ian counted. Sure, it had only been two dates, but at least he had gotten laid. "And I'm questioning it because of who you're going on said date with. I mean, it's Potter, Draco. I thought you hated him."

"I did. Or I do. Or. I don't know, Greg. I'm not sure what came over me. He's attractive now." A small part of Draco protests and says he was always quite attractive, in a speccy, annoying kind of way.

"Ah," Greg says sagely. "So you were thinking with your little Draco then." Draco claps a hand to his forehead.

"Of course I was, Greg. It's a date."

"So you want to fuck him then?"

"I am not having this conversation with you." Draco turns and leaves Greg alone in the section. Greg stands and watches him go with a shrug.

"He wants to fuck him," he says to no one in particular.

Draco isn't sure how upset he should be by the question. It is probably quite fair of Greg to ask him that. But while, yes, he realizes he was going to go on a date with Potter, he wasn't necessarily planning to take him immediately to bed. But perhaps he should be planning to do that? What will Potter be expecting? And, probably more pertinent, where will any kind of sex be taking place? Because now Draco feels far too awkward to bring Potter home with him, but he has no idea where Potter even lives. What if they end up apparating to America? Draco quickly dismisses this idea as it is technically impossible, but the trans-Atlantic Floo is a real option and how could he not have considered that? And. And. And.

And nothing. They were going to have a perfectly normal date: drinks and dinner. And who knows what next. Maybe some clothes would be removed, maybe not. Either way, it was none of Greg's business.

* * *

Sorry this was a day late. As ever, feedback is appreciated. :)


	4. Draco Versus The First Date

Pansy stares at herself in the mirror. There are bags starting to form under her eyes. She knows she should have tried to get more sleep last night, but she had spent it tossing and turning in her bed, images of Agent Wood and the flash of his wand replaying themselves in her head. So she had gotten up early and gone back to the training room for another round with her favorite punching bag.

Now she stands in the training facility changing room and stares at the mirror. Her hair is still damp from her post-workout shower. She shivers as a bead of water escapes her bun and runs down the back of her neck. She reaches into her bag and pulls out some under eye concealer. Once she looks a bit more awake, she nods at her reflection and leaves the room.

She checks her watch as she makes her way down the corridor and finds that Dempsey has left her a message, summoning Pansy to her office. Without missing a step, Pansy alters her course. Within minutes, she is standing outside of the antechamber to the General's office. She squares her shoulders and enters.

Mortimer Banks, General Dempsey's assistant, looks up from his desk. He nods politely at her and motions to one of the empty chairs that line the wall of the room. She is not in the mood for idle chatter, so she picks a chair as far away from Banks as possible. If he finds this rude, he does not say it. In an attempt to look busy, Pansy raises her wrist and swipes through the messages on her watch. She has read most of them already, but Banks won't know that.

The minutes tick by and Pansy eventually lowers her watch, unable to distract herself further. Banks is now reading a memo and she watches as his dark eyes scan the page, flashing from one side to the other. She looks away before he can catch her watching him. She doesn't want him to think she might have any attraction to him.

That is always a problem with being one of the only women on the DMLEHS. Sure, General Dempsey is a woman, but they are few and far between in the hit wizard ranks. And for some reason, which Pansy finds irritating to no end, all of the men assume that she wants to sleep with them. And if she had a knut for every time she had said she didn't and the man in question just told her she would come around, her Gringotts account would be a whole lot shinier.

And so she had had to be the best and she pushed herself until she was. She saw the disbelief on so many of those ignorant men's faces whenever she got promoted ahead of them and she smiles at the thought. Sure, some people may call her a bitch, but it is a name she wears with pride, because in her opinion, bitches get stuff done.

"Major Parkinson," Banks says, snapping Pansy out of her reverie. She looks over at him. "She's ready for you now." She gives him a small, tight lipped smile as she heads over to Dempsey's office. Banks is one of the good ones, she thinks.

"Ah, Parkinson," Dempsey says as she enters the General's office. "Just who I wanted to see. Please sit." She motions at the pair of chairs in front of her desk and Pansy takes one.

"General," she says, inclining her head.

"We have located The Reliquary." As usual, Dempsey gets straight to the point. Pansy sits up straighter in her chair, not that she had been slouching. "It has fallen into the position of a," she pauses to look down her nose at the papers on her desk. "Of a Draco Malfoy." A shock of recognition goes through Pansy. She hasn't thought about Draco in years. They had begun drifting apart in Sixth Year, when it had turned out Draco was busy carrying out a plan to kill Dumbledore, and then he had not come back to school the following year. And while the Parkinsons had perhaps been acquainted with the wrong people and dabbled in the more grey arts, the Malfoys had thrown their lot in with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And so somehow she had not found the time to see Draco after the war, a predicament she sometimes regrets. But really, she barely has any free time as it is and what little she does, she mostly spends with Millie, Daphne and Izzy.

"I understand that Mr. Malfoy was in your year at school," Dempsey says. She looks up from her stack of papers. Pansy frowns, thinking for a moment that the General is referring to Malfoy Senior, but she realizes her error and nods.

"Yes," she says. "We were both in Slytherin together." She regrets her words instantly. She has spent the last ten years trying to distance herself from her house, at least in terms of her professional life. She is still so ashamed that the entire house had been sent away during the Battle of Hogwarts and is even more so since it had been because of her words. She has worked so hard to prove to everyone that she is better than that now.

"Ah, yes." Dempsey refers to her notes again. She must sense Pansy's unease, that or she notices the fact that Pansy is no longer looking her straight in the eye, but rather looking ever so slightly to the left of her gaze, because she adds, "Some of our best hit wizards have come from Slytherin. Ambition isn't always a negative trait, Parkinson."

"Of course, General," Pansy says with a nod.

"Now, I have heard some whispers through the grapevine that the Unspeakables are conducting their own investigation into The Reliquary, and I want you to get to it first. Our intelligence on Mr. Malfoy indicates that he lives at 34 Sorella Gardens. He appears to have a roommate." She lifts the top piece of paper and peers at another sheet beneath it. "A Gregory Goyle." Pansy is surprised by this information, but she does not let it show on her face. The last she had heard, Greg was in Azkaban, but clearly he was no longer there. She is not surprised that the two of them are still friends though. She doubts Greg has any other friends and she remembers how absurdly fond of Crabbe and Goyle Malfoy had been, even despite the fact that he had deliberately picked them as friends so that they could protect him from some of the older, meaner Slytherins.

"The pair of them work at Flourish and Blotts," Dempsey continues and Pansy can't help but snort in amusement at the thought of Draco in retail, a position that the Draco she remembers from school would have seen as pedestrian. "Is something funny, Parkinson?" Pansy quickly rearranges her features into her usual serious face.

"No, General."

"Good." Dempsey pauses and rests her elbows on the table, making a tent with her arms. She leans forward and rests her chin on her hands as she regards Pansy. Pansy does her best to sit still and straight. After a long moment of scrutinizing Pansy, Dempsey leans back in her chair. "If it were any other one of my agents looking into an old friend, I might have reservations, but Parkinson, you have shown that you are nothing if not professional. Don't make me regret keeping you on this case."

"I won't." Pansy almost salutes, but she senses that the meeting is not over yet.

"Good. I'm sure I don't have to tell you again how important this book is." Dempsey brings a hand up and pinches the bridge of her nose and Pansy realizes that the General looks even more tired than she herself does. "You have my permission to do whatever it takes to get it back." Pansy blinks in surprise. She knows the situation is serious, but she had not realized that it is _whatever it takes_ serious. She nods her acknowledgment. "Very good, Parkinson. You are dismissed." Pansy stands and walks to the door of Dempsey's office. Once there, she stops and salutes before leaving.

…

Draco arrives home at half past five and immediately panics about the state of the house. Why hadn't he thought to tidy it this morning? An irrational thought, sure, because this morning he didn't think he would be bringing anyone over, but this acknowledgment doesn't help his current predicament. He pulls out his wand and begins waving it erratically around the room.

Various plates fly across the room and into their cupboards, narrowly avoiding the cups and glasses headed to a different cupboard. All of the drawers in the kitchen open as various and sundry cutlery and other cooking implements put themselves away. A blanket soars through the air, looking for all the world like the muggle idea of a ghost, and then settles, neatly folded, on the end of the sofa. This morning's Daily Prophet slinks along the tabletop, down the leg of the table and then finally over to the recycling bin in the corner. The table sets itself. A set of tarnished candlesticks swoops out from the corner of the room. They are met in mid air by the silver polish and a rag. Once they are gleaming, they settle onto the table and two dark blue tapered candles nestle themselves into the holders. Another flick of the wand and the candles are lit.

Draco starts to get out a bottle of wine before he realizes that he is not sure what Potter will want to drink. He does not want to seem presumptuous. But what if the wine doesn't have enough time to breathe? That's all well and good, but what if Potter wants beer? Do they even have any beer? Draco hurries to the refrigerator that Hannah insisted they get. Ernie had even rigged it so that it ran on magic. He pulls it open and sighs in relief when he sees a small collection of cans and bottles inside. He peers at them more closely and realizes he is not quite sure where they came from. He wonders if Greg has somehow already told Hannah about his upcoming date, because if he has, it seems likely that she might have come over and stocked their fridge. She was a thoughtful Hufflepuff like that.

Draco almost frowns at himself for the generalization, but then figures it is alright to cast a whole group of people as kind and caring. After all, everyone knows that Hufflepuff is the nice house and he doesn't think, or at least no longer thinks, that being nice is a thing to sneer at. Particularly not right now as his refrigerator is fully stocked thanks to his very kind friend. He shuts the door to the fridge and that's when he spots Hannah's note taped to the front of it. He had missed it in his rush to see what was inside.

 _Have fun tonight, lover boy,_ the note reads. Hannah has drawn a winking smiley face under the text. Draco smiles and then crumples up the note. It would not do to have Potter see that. He uncurls it after a moment and instead folds it and sticks it in his pocket like a good luck charm.

He glances at the clock and sees that it is now quarter to six. His stomach lurches with nerves. He still needs to change and so he takes the stairs up to his room two at a time. Although his closet seems to mock him while he tries to pick out an outfit that is both nice, but also not trying too hard, he makes it back down to the kitchen by two minutes to six. He takes one last look around and decides that everything looks fine. He sighs and sits down on one of the chairs only to leap up a moment later as he hears the doorbell ring.

He practically flies down the stairs and then skids to a stop in front of the door. He checks the hall mirror quickly and smooths down a stray hair. His reflection winks at him and he rolls his eyes at it. He tugs his shirt down one last time and then opens the door, in a way that he hopes looks casual and not like he is a giant ball of nerves.

Potter is standing on the doorstep holding a bottle of wine. He is wearing an awkward smile, a pale blue button down shirt and navy trousers. Draco is pleased to see that he has taken off the unsightly Gryffindor belt.

"Hi," Potter says.

"Hello," Draco replies. They stand there for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

"Can I come in?" Potter asks at last. Draco all but slaps a hand to his forehead.

"Oh, right. Yes, of course." He moves to the side and leans in what he hopes is a casual manner against the wall next to the door. As his hand touches the wall, he feels for the security ward and adds Potter to the list of allowed people. "Come in, come in." He gestures and Potter finally takes the hint and walks inside. Draco shuts the door behind him. "Uh, the sitting room is upstairs." He allows Potter to walk up the stairs before him and it is only when he is then eye level with Potter's arse that he thinks that perhaps he should have gone first. And now he is worried that Potter will think he is checking him out. Which, in all fairness, Draco is, but he does not want Potter to know that.

Of course, Potter is oblivious as it turns out. He is too busy looking around the house to even notice Draco, which makes Draco immensely happy about the fact that he had had time to tidy up when he got home.

"This is a lovely house," Potter says. He turns and hands Draco the bottle of wine. "Now, I'm not sure if we want to open just yet that as our dinner reservations are at eight, and I'm not sure if you want an entire bottle of wine before dinner? It might be a bit much, but then there are about two hours, so perhaps it would be perfectly fine and of course there are two of us." Draco thinks Potter is babbling, which he takes as a good sign. It means Potter is as nervous as he is. "And, then obviously, it also depends on how we want to get to dinner. Any ideas?" Potter runs a hand through his hair and smiles sheepishly at Draco.

"Well, where is dinner?" Draco asks.

"Chelsea."

"We could take the Tube?" Draco suggests.

"You would take the Tube?"

"Why wouldn't I take the Tube, Potter? It's a form of transportation."

"But it's a _muggle_ form of transportation," Potter points out, a sly smile creeping onto his face.

"I am aware." Draco stares at Potter for a moment, a serious look on his face, and then he cracks a similar smile. "I am not averse to muggle transportation, you know."

"Right, sorry. I just thought-"

"-That I was the same git you knew at Hogwarts?"

"I wasn't going to say git."

"But you were thinking it."

"No, I wasn't," Potter protests and Draco instinctively bursts out laughing at his discomfort before stopping himself.

"As you pointed out earlier, it's been ten years." He winks and then instantly regrets it. Who even winks anymore? "So," he says quickly by way of distraction. "What would you like to drink?"

"Well, if we take the Tube, that obviously takes longer than apparating." Potter is clearly still stuck on the question of transportation.

"Obviously." Potter narrows his eyes and glares at Draco, but there is no venom in it. In fact, Draco can see the ghost of smirk on Potter's face. Draco sticks out his tongue in playful response. He nearly bites it in his haste to put it back in his mouth. He is horrified at his behavior. What is he _doing_? This isn't even _good_ flirting. And it is most unlike him, even for a ten years post Hogwarts Draco.

"And then there is a bit of a walk from South Ken to the restaurant," Potter continues after a pause.

"Well, then let's apparate," Draco says. It seems like the obvious answer. Potter nods his agreement. Draco glances at the clock on the mantlepiece. While it feels like he and Potter have been bantering for an age, it turns out it is still only seven minutes past six. There is plenty of time to finish the wine. "And let's have the wine. Thank you for bringing it, by the way." He walks over to the kitchen and rummages through his drawers for a bottle opener. As he starts to work it into the cork, he finally takes a good look at the label.

"Merlin, Potter. You brought Opus One?" He looks over at the brunet, who looks uncomfortable. After a moment, Potter shrugs.

"Hermione said it was good wine," he mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets. He turns and begins to pace the length of the living room.

"It is. Granger has good taste." He pulls the cork out with a pop. "Though, not in men." Potter snorts in amusement, turning back to face Draco.

"Don't be mean about Ron," he says.

"I don't date gingers." He pulls down a pair of wine glasses and pours the wine.

"That seems unfair to gingers."

"Fine, I would probably date _some_ gingers," Draco relents. "But I wouldn't date Ron, even if he were asking."

"He wouldn't ask,"

" _He_ probably still thinks I'm that same git he knew at Hogwarts." Draco walks over to Potter and hands him a wine glass.

"Cheers," Potter says, smiling warmly, and they clink glasses. Draco moves to the sofa and sits down. After a moment, Potter chooses one of the armchairs and lowers himself into it. "And yes, I imagine that Ron does still think you're a twat."

"Charming." At this, Potter chuckles. Draco ignores him for a moment in favor of his wine, which he swirls around in his glass, before raising the glass to his nose. He wishes he were better at distinguishing the different aromas of wine. He always just thinks it smells like wine, a fact that Hannah likes to tease him about. He tries, he really tries, to discern hints of blackberry or leather or whatever, but fails. He takes a sip and lets it settle over his tongue. It is good wine - very good wine in fact. Draco may not know how to discern the individual notes in a glass of wine, but he can tell if it's good. He holds the glass towards Potter.

"Thank you for the wine," he says. "It's really quite delicious." Potter gives him a small, tight smile. Draco decides to move the conversation on. "So now that we've settled on wine and transportation, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner?" He catches Potter mid-sip of wine and waits for him to swallow the mouthful down.

"Mm, this place near my house," Potter says. He wipes an apologetic hand across his mouth. "It's called Made in China." Draco's eyes widen in surprise and delight. He knows exactly the restaurant that Potter is talking about. Oddly enough, he had gone there with Ian. The food had been delicious and he has been trying to find an excuse to drag Greg to dinner there, but Greg is somewhat wary of the muggle world and only ventures out when he has good reason to. Draco has tried to point out that really delicious food _is_ a reason to leave the cocoon of the wizarding world, but Greg has yet to be convinced. Perhaps if Draco can bring home leftovers…

"I love that place," he says. Potter looks taken aback.

"You've," he stutters. "You've been there?" Draco nods.

"Also on a date."

"Oh."

"But I won't bore you with the details." Potter nods and takes a big sip of his wine.

"Sorry," Potter responds after a moment. "We can go somewhere else if you would prefer."

"No, no! Not at all. I've been wanting to go back there, but Greg hasn't wanted to venture out to Chelsea."

"Greg is aware that he can apparate, right?" Potter asks.

"Yes, but he's a bit nervous of Muggle London."

"He knows they don't bite, right?"

"I mean, unless it's while they're gagging on your," Draco stops himself before he says cock. "Shit, that's not first date talk." He slaps a hand over his mouth. Potter roars with sudden laughter and Draco sees his shoulders relax for the first time since he arrived. It seems Potter is as nervous as he is about this date. He lowers his hand and bites his lip. "Sorry," he says. "I haven't been on a date in a while." Potter waves his apology away, still chuckling.

"Don't be sorry," he says.

"Normally I'm not nearly so crass." Draco is unsure if this is strictly true, but he thinks he will blame his lack of any partner short of his hand for this particular outburst.

"You're not?" Potter asks. "More's the shame. I quite enjoyed such dirty things coming out of such a pretty mouth." Draco raises an eyebrow at him, surprised by this sudden shift in Potter's demeanor.

"Now, Potter, I must tell you. I don't fuck on the first date. So don't get your hopes up." _Yes, you do,_ says Draco's traitorous mind.

"Well, damn. I guess I'll just have to wine you and dine you and see where it goes then." And now they are in uncharted territory and even in all of Draco's fantasies, the conversation has not gone here. Draco lets the comment hang in the air and watches as Potter's mouth slowly quirks into a smile. They stare at each other for a long moment.

"So," Draco says. "What have you been up to for the last ten years?"

"Not much. Been here and there."

"I heard you joined the Auror force."

"You heard correctly. How about you? Has it just been Flourish and Blotts?"

"Well, for a time I was working at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Were you? How did I never see you there?"

"I mainly worked lunchtimes. And in interior design." He laughs at himself. "I'm not really sure I can call it interior design. There was no real design in mind. It was a bit of a hodgepodge of things that Hannah could afford to replace at any given time."

"That was you?" Potter asks.

"At least in part."

"I didn't realize you and Hannah were so close."

"Well, we weren't in Hogwarts, but I'm sure you knew that." Potter nods and takes a sip of his wine. He doesn't try to fill the silence, so Draco continues. "She was one of the first people who really talked to me after the War. I mean, aside from my parents and my barrister." Now it is Draco's turn to take a sip of wine. He is not sure why he is opening up to Potter this way, but it feels good to share. "I guess I shouldn't have given the Hufflepuffs so much shit in school. They're clearly the nicest house."

"No shit, Sherlock," Potter says.

"Sure-what?"

"Sherlock," Potter says. "As in Sherlock Holmes." Draco frowns in confusion, so Potter continues. "It's a set of Muggle book about a detective."

"I'm not sure I understand the reference." Potter shakes his head.

"Never mind," he says. "It's not important. You were telling me about your time at the Leaky Cauldron." He gestures for Draco to continue.

"Right, yes." He takes another sip of wine. He thinks he is probably drinking it too quickly, but there's not much he can do about that now, except to slow down. "Well, Hannah and I became fast friends, and she hired me to work behind the bar, which was kind of her because not everyone was willing to take a chance on an ex-Death Eater like me."

"Wait, you did actually take the mark?" Potter asks. Draco grits his teeth.

"Yes and no," he says. Potter cocks his head to the side in confusion. "Well, because I was still in school when I joined, V thought it would be best to keep that fact a secret, so instead of a full mark, I just got a small snake tattoo." He pulls up his sleeve and shows Potter the coiled silver snake on his left forearm. "This way if anybody asked, I could say that it was a House tattoo, or something like that." Potter nods. "And then after…" Draco finds he can't say it.

"After Dumbledore died," Potter prompts. Draco is relieved that there is no malice in Potter's tone.

"Yes, that," Draco agrees. "After that, I left school. Mother insisted that we wait to give me the full Mark, although wait for what I was never sure. And somehow, it never happened. I think perhaps V forgot in all the other things that were going on. I came when everyone was summoned, so what did it matter? I was a Death Eater in everything but the full snake and skull.

"Greg has had a harder time of things as he actually got the damn thing. I'm not even sure when he had the time to get it. He was in Hogwarts for most of the war. We've done everything we can think of to fade it or cover it, but it's stubbornly still there.

"But anyhow, it doesn't matter that I don't have an actual Dark Mark, because everyone knows about my family and our involvement anyway." He can't bring himself to look at Potter, so instead he looks down at his hands. He silently curses his decision to go on this date. Dating muggles, while difficult in its own way, is much easier - there are no long, uncomfortable conversations about the past that he has tried - and is still trying - to put behind himself.

"Your mother saved my life," Potter says. His voice is quiet and when Draco looks up at him, he has a faraway look in his eyes.

"Yes, well, the Malfoys aren't all terrible."

"I never thought you were terrible."

"But -" Draco splutters.

"-Just misled." Potter puts his wine glass down and leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I mean, who the fuck knows who they are at sixteen? I sure as hell didn't." Draco works to keep his face impassive as a flood of emotions - relief, curiosity, gratitude - washes over him.

"You didn't always know that you wanted to be the savior of the wizard in world?" He asks. Potter gives short bark of laughter, behind which Draco can hear an aggrieved tone.

"I didn't _want_ to be anything," he says. "If anything, I wanted to be bloody normal." He leans back into the armchair's soft cushions. "You try having teenage angst on top of being stressed out about some asshole constantly trying to kill you, all the while people are telling you that _you_ , a teenager, must be the one who defeats him. Talk about pressure."

"It's a wonder you grew up so normal," Draco says, adding a hint of sarcasm in an effort to lighten the conversation again. He had much preferred the flirting part of their conversation. He is rewarded by a small smile crossing Potter's face.

"Ha, bleedin', ha," Potter says. "You're one to talk."

"Hmm. I suppose in our own ways we both had shit childhoods, didn't we?" Draco says. Over the past few years, he has started to realize that the childhood he had previously thought was rather sheltered and spoiled, was instead devoid of much emotional stability.

"Hogwarts was my salvation," Potter says.

"Mine too, now that I think of it." Potter looks as though he is going to say something, but then stops himself and instead picks up his wine glass and, seeing there is not much left in it, drains it. He stands.

"More wine?"

…

Harry is no longer sure what he is doing. Or, rather, he is, but his traitorous heart (libido?) is leading him astray. He should be more professional on this mission. He needs to wine and dine Malfoy so that he can learn about The Reliquary. And yet, here they are, having this deep discussion about the War and their childhoods.

It is all Harry can do not to bring up the fact that Malfoy was part of what made his childhood so rubbish. How much easier would Hogwarts have been if he and Malfoy hadn't been at each other's throats the entire time. But he supposed that was partly because of old wizarding family rivalries. If the Malfoys and the Weasleys hadn't hated each other, perhaps Ron and Malfoy would have gotten along that first day on the train. But instead, Malfoy had insulted the only friend he'd had at that point. He has worked hard to get past the fact that Malfoy was probably just parroting his father back then. And that really, he had grown up being told certain things about muggles by his parents, so of course he would be inclined to believe those things himself. Where would he have gotten any other points of view from as a child? In fact, over the years Harry has found this about many wizards, including some who had not been supporters of Voldemort.

He realizes that he has dawdled too long by the wine and walks back over to the living room area. He hands Malfoy his refilled glass.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He decides to take the bold move of sitting next to Malfoy on the sofa as opposed to going back to the chair he was in earlier. Or, rather, while Harry thinks it's a bold move, Malfoy doesn't bat an eyelid. But now that Harry is there, he realizes he is looking out at the room, and not at Malfoy. He shifts in his seat so that he is facing towards the blond and in doing so, he ends up bringing their knees together. And then once he has done that, he can't take it away again or he'll look like a twat. Merlin he wished he had tried harder during seduction class.

In Harry's defense, he knows he is better at doing this with women. The stakes are never as high because it is a rare occurrence these days that he will be as attracted to them as he will to some of his male marks. He tries to tell himself that he doesn't care what Malfoy thinks, but unfortunately that is not how attraction works. Why couldn't Hannah Abbott have been the person Oliver sent The Reliquary to?

But Harry knows the reason. Somehow, even after he hadn't seen Malfoy in years - _years_ \- he trusted him more with this important piece of government property. Not for the first time, Harry thinks that perhaps Malfoy was in on the whole thing. Perhaps they planned it together. This thought makes Harry somewhat sick to his stomach, which somewhat ironically makes it easier to lean forward and put a hand on Malfoy's knee.

"I heard a rumor," he says. "That you have also taken a liking to Gyrffindors, post-Hogwarts. Perhaps a certain Gryffindor turned Puddlemere United Keeper in particular?" To his delight, Malfoy flushes crimson. He watches as the other man takes a large gulp of his wine.

"I never said I disliked _all_ the bloody Gryffindors," he finally says. He looks distinctly uncomfortable and Harry feels a stab of compunction.

"So the rumors are true? You did date Quidditch Today's most eligible bachelor?"

"Where did you even hear about it?" Malfoy snaps. Harry says nothing, instead letting the silence draw out. Malfoy downs another mouthful of wine. "Fine. We dated. Kind of. But that was years ago. And before you ask, I have no idea where the fuck he is. He broke up with me before he disappeared. Or more accurately, the asshole disappeared without even saying goodbye. He just fucking _left_." It is the mix of venom and hurt in Malfoy's voice that convinces Harry that Malfoy is telling the truth. And it is like a switch has flipped in Harry's mind and he is back to being nervous and awkward, only now his hand is still on Malfoy's knee and he's not sure has the courage to go any farther.

"I'm sorry," he says. Malfoy's demeanor softens.

"No, Potter, _I'm_ sorry. No one wants to hear about their date's exes. Although, you _did_ ask."

"Allow me to show you that not all Gryffidors are jerks," Harry says, and before he can think better of it, he leans forward and captures Malfoy's lips with his. Malfoy tastes of wine, which Harry should have expected, and his lips are soft and pliant, parting easily as Harry's tongue slips its way inside Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy pulls back after a moment. Harry tilts his head to the side, questioning without words why the kiss had stopped.

"You haven't finished wining and dining me yet," Malfoy says with a smirk. "We've only done the wine part."

"Are you complaining about the wine?"

"Not in the slightest. I was just making the point that I'm not that easy."

"That's a shame," Harry says. "I was enjoying kissing you."

"Well, buy me dinner and then we'll talk."

"More talking?" Harry arches an eyebrow. It is a skill he has worked on since leaving Hogwarts. Is it a skill he learned particularly because it used to drive him crazy when Malfoy would do it in school? Possibly.

"Oh, shut up, Potter," Malfoy says. "You're not nearly as attractive as you think you are." Harry grins.

"Oh, so you think I'm attractive."

"No, I think _you_ think you're attractive."

"Sure."

"You're decent looking."

"Sure, yep, that's what you meant." Malfoy scowls at him for a moment then he leans forward, stopping just as his lips ghost over Harry's.

"You're much easier to deal with when you're not talking."

"Is that so?" Harry asks. He does not close the gap between them. Two can play this game.

"Yes." Malfoy tips his chin down and rests his forehead against Harry's for a moment before he sits back again, separating their faces, and the spell is broken. "But I guess I just have to put up with your inane chatter until later." He smirks and takes a sip of his wine. Harry regards him thoughtfully.

"So you're saying you need to eat first so you can get your stamina up?" Malfoy closes his eyes for a long moment and Harry can't tell if his is trying not to laugh or if he is trying not to hit him. He thinks he sees the corners of Malfoy's mouth quirk upwards but he can't be sure.

"You just wish you were so lucky," he says, opening his eyes again. "I already told you, not on the first date."

"Whatever you say," Harry says, throwing his hands up in defeat. But he doesn't think this conversation is over. Not really. Not yet.

* * *

Apologies for this being a week late - I was at a conference last week and had little to no free time. As ever, your feedback is appreciated. :)


	5. Draco Versus the Top Hats

The restaurant is mostly full when they arrive. Harry gives his name to the waiter and the man leads them to an empty table towards the back of the restaurant. Harry is a little bit tipsy from the wine, but not so much that he can't concentrate on the purpose of his mission. They had not finished the bottle he had brought, but rather corked it with just over a glass and a half left. And Harry knows that food will help lessen his intoxication.

He opens the menu and pretends to read through it, even though he already knows what he is going to order. It is what he gets every time he comes here. Except this time, the bill will helpfully be picked up by the Ministry, so he is going to order more food than he knows he will eat and then take the rest home as leftovers. Does he feel slightly guilty about doing this? Yes, but not guilty enough that he's not going to do it.

"Do you know what you want?" he asks after enough time has passed that it seems reasonable to broach the subject.

"Top Hats," Malfoy says without hesitation. "I've been dreaming about them since I was last here." Harry smiles.

"We might want two orders then," he says. "Because they're my absolute favorite thing on the menu." Malfoy nods.

"How about the Szechuan crispy pork?"

"And some noodles?" Harry prompts.

"Noodles _and_ rice," Malfoy agrees. They decide to split some hot and sour soup as well and are very ready to order by the time the waiter comes to their table. Harry throws in another bottle of wine, almost as an afterthought. It can't hurt. He has promised both wining _and_ dining after all.

With the ordering out of the way, Harry watches as Draco looks around the restaurant. He still seems nervous, which Harry supposes is a good thing, although it does make him feel a little bit bad about asking him out under false pretenses. Harry is enjoying himself more than he thought he would, but he knows their relationship likely can't last past this evening. He is unsure if he would want it to anyway. He is still mourning Oliver, even if he does have to put those feelings aside for work. Perhaps that was what had made it so easy to kiss Malfoy earlier, though Harry would be a liar if he said he hadn't enjoyed it.

The waiter comes with their bottle of wine and they watch as he laboriously opens it. Harry knows that they do this in order to show that the wine is freshly opened, but sometimes when he watches a waiter struggle with a corkscrew, he wishes they would just bring open bottles. As it is, he feels like he has to nod and smile and appear appreciative for the entire time the man is there. Finally the cork releases with a soft _pop._ The waiter looks at Harry and then at Malfoy, enquiring who should try it. Harry points at Malfoy. He had known that the wine he had brought over this evening had been good, so Harry assumes Malfoy must know more about wine than he does. Granted, that is not hard. Harry knows that he likes wine and that is pretty much the extent of his thoughts on the matter.

Malfoy lifts the glass to his nose, smells it, swills the wine around briefly and then takes a sip. He seems to consider the wine in his mouth for a moment before he nods.

"It's good," he says. Then they both watch as the waiter pours wine for both of them. Harry almost wishes they had ordered by the glass by this point. Eventually the man retreats to the kitchen again and they both pick up their glasses.

"Cheers," Harry says, holding his glass out. Malfoy clinks his glass on Harry's.

"To stupid school rivalries," Malfoy says.

"And getting over them."

"Speak for yourself." But there is a smirk on Malfoy's face and a sparkle in his eye that tells Harry he is kidding. Perhaps this wining and dining is going better than he thought. But it should be going well, Harry supposes. After all, he _is_ trained in it.

Before they have the time to start another conversation, the waiter returns, this time bearing plates. One is covered in tiny wonton cups whose edges splay out like the brim of a top hat, from whence the dish gets its name. The top hat filling is in a separate bowl so that they can fill the cups as much or as little as they want. Once the waiter leaves, they both reach for the spoon at the same time. Harry inwardly winces. In response, they both draw their hands back, each of them trying to be polite to the other.

"You go first," Harry eventually says after they do the same thing again. Malfoy nods and picks up the spoon and one of the little cups. Harry's mouth waters. He has not realized quite how hungry he is and it is taking all of his self control not to leap over the table and take the spoon out of Malfoy's hand as he serves himself. Harry bites his lip and instead takes a sip of his wine.

The first bite, once Harry finally gets to it, is heavenly. The shells are crisp, the shrimp based filling is salty and a little bit sweet and the vegetables, which Harry thinks might be jicama or some sort of water chestnut, give the filling just the right amount of crunch. He looks over at Malfoy and sees a similar expression of ecstasy on the blond's face as he chews.

"Mmm, oh," Malfoy all but moans as he finishes his bite. "These are just as good as I remembered them." Harry grins.

"Good," Harry says. Then he goes back to concentrating on the food. Malfoy can wait. His stomach cannot.

…

"It was so strange, this morning I really wanted to sleep in, but I was interrupted by a _songbird_ outside my window," Harry says, changing the subject.

He watches Malfoy carefully as he casually drops a benign mission code name into the conversation. Croaker had mentioned this particular mission as a test whether or not Malfoy had (stupidly) read _The Reliquary_. Of course, if he had, then the mission to bring the book back is decidedly a bust. The information would be gone. Or, rather, it would be stuck in Malfoy's head.

They are onto the crispy shredded pork now and Harry keeps having to take sips of water to combat the spice of the dish. He watches Malfoy over the top of his water glass.

For a moment, Malfoy looks at him blankly, but then Harry sees something in Malfoy's posture shift as he almost imperceptibly stiffens in surprise and Harry's heart sinks. The book is gone. Malfoy has read it. And in that moment, Harry knows that his mission has changed. Now, Malfoy is the asset, and thus is the thing that Harry will have to bring in to Croaker as soon as he possibly can. And to do that, he is going to need Malfoy to trust him. He quickly changes the subject, moving away from any work-related topics.

Eye on Malfoy, Harry watches him sit for a moment, right before before he seemingly catches himself and begins to eat again. The pork almost tastes like cardboard in Harry's mouth now. The fact that The Reliquary is gone and the potential implications of that are swimming around his head. What will happen to Malfoy? Is it possible to get the information out of the blond's head? And more importantly, is it possible to do that while keeping him alive. Because he sure as hell does not want to explain to Narcissa that her son is dead. He knows first-hand how much she cares for him. It's the reason Harry is still alive.

All of a sudden, he catches a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and acts without thinking, throwing himself in front of Draco, and putting up a shield charm as he does. All heads turn as the front window of the restaurant shatters. He feels rather than sees a stunning spell hit his shield and ricochet across the restaurant. An unfortunate patron slumps in her chair. He pulls Malfoy down, throwing up another shield in front of the both of them. Harry gestures for Malfoy to head towards the back of the restaurant, but Malfoy is immobile with either shock or fear, or perhaps a combination of the two.

"Move," Harry hisses at him. Malfoy blinks as though coming out of a dream and then begins to run in the direction that Harry indicates.

"What is going on?" Draco asks as they run down the corridor that goes past the kitchen. There are screams and crashes coming from the restaurant behind them.

"I'm not quite sure," Harry gasps, still running. "But don't worry. I'm going to protect you." The corridor ends in a door and they burst through it and out into the night. Harry quickly pulls Draco to the side and whips out his invisibility cloak. He presses Malfoy to him and throws it over both of them. He leans back so that Malfoy can see his face and then holds a finger up to his lips. Malfoy snaps his mouth shut and nods. His eyes are wide with fear and Harry can feel how fast he is breathing.

The back door opens again a moment later and Harry hears Malfoy's sharp intake of breath. He turns his head and sees Major Pansy Parkinson with her wand out. Her eyes flash with irritation when she can't find them. Harry clamps a hand over Malfoy's mouth, not trusting him not to say anything. Malfoy glares at him but Harry ignores him.

They watch as Parkinson scowls at the alleyway. She slowly lowers her wand. Her shoulders slump.

"Fucking Potter," she mutters and then adds something inaudible. Harry almost feels sorry for her, but then he remembers that she had just tried to knock them out. He is surprised that she was so brazen. The DMLEHS must be really gunning to fix the situation before the Unspeakables can. He wonders if she knows The Reliquary is gone. He doubts it, or she would have been more gentle in trying to bring Malfoy in.

He jumps as he feels Malfoy lick the hand that is clamped over his mouth. Harry slowly removes it and they watch as Parkinson taps on her watch briefly before turning back to the back door of the restaurant. She has begun to pull the door open, when Malfoy sneezes. She whips around, wand up and advances toward them again.

"Who's there?" she asks. "Show yourself or I start hurling jinxes." Harry sighs.

"Circe, Parkinson," he says, pulling off the invisibility cloak. "You're going to have to Obliviate every muggle in that restaurant. Let's not make it the whole street." Harry is more than miffed about this. He really likes the food there, but now he is worried they'll never let him back in. Parkinson ignores Harry and instead focuses her attention on Malfoy.

"Hi Draco," she says. Malfoy nods at her.

"Pansy," he says. "I see you're a hit wizard now." Harry groans, convinced that Malfoy has given away that he has read The Reliquary, but then he notices that Parkinson's jacket is embroidered with their crossed wand seal. Then he realizes that Malfoy must know he is an Unspeakable as that information is likely in the database that now lives in Malfoy's head. He wonders why Malfoy hasn't said anything about it. Then he wonders if Malfoy has figured out that is the reason for their date. Harry partly hopes that he hasn't.

"Let's skip the pleasantries, Draco," Parkinson says. "Why did Wood send you The Reliquary and where is it?" Harry watches as the color drains from Malfoy's face.

"I, uh, don't know what you're," Malfoy starts to say. Parkinson rolls her eyes at him.

"Cut the crap. You know exactly what I'm talking about." She points her wand at him. Harry sees a mix of astonishment and fear cross Malfoy's face. Harry frowns and takes a step towards Parkinson, raising his own wand.

"It's gone," Malfoy blurts out.

"What?"

"Well, the cover is still there. But the pages are missing." Parkinson's eyes narrow as she stares at Malfoy.

"Are you telling me you fucking read it?" Malfoy audibly gulps.

"Yes?" Parkinson rounds on Harry.

"Did you know about this?" she asks. Malfoy frowns and looks at Harry.

"I suspected."

"Fuck."

"Indeed." They stand there for a long moment while Parkinson continues to glare at both of them, alternating between them.

"Could we," Malfoy starts to say. Both Harry and Parkinson turn quickly towards him. "Ah, could we perhaps lower the wands?" Parkinson frowns but she and Harry both slowly point their wands at the ground, though neither of them put them away.

"What now, then?" she asks.

"I dunno," Harry says. "We bring him in?"

"Woah now," Malfoy says, holding his arms out in front of himself as though calming a nervous horse. "Bring me in where? And why? Have I committed a crime?"

" _You_ didn't," Parkinson says. "That idiot's partner did though, when he stole the damn thing from the Ministry."

"It's _stolen property_?" Malfoy gasps. He leans against the side of the alleyway for support. He covers his mouth and looks as though he is on the verge of tears. Parkinson glances nervously at the door.

"Why don't we move this conversation inside," Harry suggests. "I live just down the road." He points is the general direction of his house.

"Sure," Parkinson says, although her tone makes it clear that this is not what she wants to do. "I just need to call this in. Give me your address, Potter. I'll meet you there once I've contacted my boss."

"My street is literally right there," Harry says. "I'm number twelve." Parkinson nods and turns away, already fiddling with her watch. Harry takes Malfoy by the hand and leads him down the alleyway. The blond stumbles a couple of times over his own feet before he comes more to his senses. Gently, Harry steers Malfoy down the street until they reach his front door. Harry leans Malfoy against the wall while he undoes the locks and alters his security wards, then he propels Malfoy inside.

…

Pansy is so angry, she thinks she could kill Draco. Of _course_ the idiot read the damn book. He's Draco Malfoy after all and the Draco Malfoy that Pansy had known in school did whatever he damn well pleased, consequences be damned. And it seems as though nothing has changed. She could quite honestly kill him.

Except, now he's the asset, isn't he? He is the proud owner of all of the Ministry's secrets, whether he knows it or not. So she can't kill him. In fact, she must do the opposite of that, at least until they figure out a way of getting all of the bloody secrets out of his head. She suddenly wants to curse whomever thought up with The Reliquary in the first place. It seems like such a stupid idea in hindsight. All the Ministry's secrets in one book? Now in just a single person's head? What a stupid idea in hindsight! It seems like madness just thinking about it.

But then, she thinks, if someone else had read it – someone like _her_ – well, then there would've been value in the idea. She would have been amazing with all that information. That is to say, she would have been even more amazing than she already is.

Pansy can think of at least fifty other people who would be better suited to the task of keeping all that knowledge, and their main qualifications are that they are _not_ Draco Malfoy. Not that Draco is all terrible. There was a time when they had been friends after all. He could be charming, occasionally thoughtful and, like most Slytherins, fiercely loyal, but he is still a selfish jerk at heart.

There are days when Pansy wishes they had stayed friends, but then she remembers how withdrawn and miserable he was in their sixth year school – the last year that she really saw him – and how he pushed everyone away as opposed to letting them help him. She knows why he did it, of course. It is part of the reason she doesn't think he is the right person to be the living incarnation of The Reliquary. At the end of the day, he had balked at killing Dumbledore, or so she had heard. If she is being fair, which isn't often, she knows she would have done the same thing in his place. She, too, had been a coward at the age of seventeen. She knows she wouldn't have helped him back then, even if he had asked her to. But Pansy knows a lot can change in ten years. Perhaps she is being too hard on Draco. Either way, she needs to stop stalling and call this in.

She watches as Draco and Potter exit the end of the alleyway and turn onto the street beyond. They take a left and are quickly lost from view. She waits another thirty seconds or so before she taps her watch with her wand. She twirls it with practiced ease until she reaches the portable Floo-Chat functionality. She taps the watch face one more time and says General Dempsey's name. There is a whooshing noise and then a small, ghostly image of Dempsey's office projects above the watch face.

"Major Parkinson reporting in, General," Pansy says once she sees that Dempsey is alone. She waits while Dempsey makes her way over to the fire place and crouches down.

"Go on, Major," she says once she is seated next to the fire.

"I located Draco Malfoy. He was at dinner with Agent Potter. I believe Potter was on a reconnaissance mission. I observed them from the window for a short while until I noticed a figure emerging from the kitchen with what appeared to be a Confuso-bomb in one hand and an Instant Swamp in the other. I swear, I would recognize those Triple W logos anywhere. So I, er, got involved." Pansy pauses here and looks shamefaced down at her shoes. She knows he's has created a giant mess inside that restaurant, and Minister Tusneem will not be pleased with her.

"Involved?" Dempsey prompts. Pansy purses her lips for a moment and then continues.

"Yes, General, I went in wands blazing. I imagine I will hear the Muggle sirens at any minute now." She pauses again and strains her ears. Sure enough, she can hear a wail starting to pick up in the distance. "But I secured the asset."

"You have The Reliquary?" Dempsey asks. Her tone is filled with undisguised excitement.

"Yes and no," Pansy says. She watches as the tiny image of Dempsey cocks its head to the side.

"I ascertained that Draco Malfoy did have The Reliquary and also that he had read it." It is hard to tell with the tiny image, but Pansy swears she sees Dempsey's posture slip for a second.

"And where is this Malfoy now?"

"With Agent Potter."

"You just let them go?"

"General, all due respect, but we needed to get Malfoy off the street as soon as possible. I'm going to meet them at Potter's residence, but I need to secure the bogey before I can do that. I knocked him out before pursuing Potter and Malfoy, but he is still inside the Muggle restaurant."

"Banks," Dempsey yells and a moment later, the image flickers and Pansy knows that Mortimer Banks has stuck his head in the room. He is so tiny on the image floating over Pansy's watch that if she had not known to look for it, she would have missed him. "We need an emergency team at," she pauses to allow Pansy to fill in the rest of the location.

"Made in China, in Chelsea. Near the corner of Limerston Street and Fulham Road."

"Potential hostile," Dempsey adds. "I want wands blazing. And a full team of Obliviators." Pansy sees the small shape that is Mortimer nod and leave.

"I will stay here until–" Pansy begins to say.

"–Like hell you will. Get over to Potter's. Now. I will not have the Unspeakables be the only team to secure The Reliquary. This is now a joint mission whether we like it or not." Pansy nods and signs off. Though she does not think Draco is much of a flight risk, she is not going to tell Dempsey that. Pansy has the feeling that she is on thin ice as it is. She pauses, staring at the door of the restaurant for a moment, before she turns and strides down the alley towards Potter's house.

…

Draco feels numb. Oliver has fucked him. And not in a good way. And, Draco supposes, he has fucked himself even more by reading the damn thing. Why did he have such poor impulse control? Why could he have not just left the stupid thing until the morning? Greg had been right. And he hates it when Greg is right.

But then how had he been supposed to know it was stolen? Or that it would disappear like that? He still has no idea how it got to him. Or, well, he knows the how, but he is still clueless about the why. And what was that that Pansy had said about Oliver being Potter's partner? Did that mean that Oliver had been dating Potter or that he had been an Unspeakable as well? He is not sure which of those would be worse.

He suddenly realizes that he is in Potter's house and takes a second to look around himself while Potter locks the multiple locks on the door. He is in a small entrance hall which has a cream marble tiled floor and off-white walls. A small, round fish eyed mirror hangs on the wall to his left. There is a staircase in front of him, carpeted in some sort of natural fiber that is a golden straw color and an open door to his right, through which he can see part of the sitting room.

He allows Potter to lead him into the sitting room, which is bigger than Draco would have thought it would be from the outside, but somehow it doesn't feel like it has been magically extended. There is a large red sofa against one wall and Draco sits down on this. It is more plush than it looks and he sinks down into the cushions. Potter walks over to the window and lowers the blinds before opening the lid to what Draco had assumed was a side table, but appears instead to be a hidden bar.

"Would you like a drink?" Potter asks. Draco considers this for a moment. He has already had a decent amount of wine tonight, but he also feels like he had most of the sobriety scared back into him by their mad dash out of the restaurant. He looks down at his hands in his lap and notices that they are shaking

"What's on offer?"

"Whisky, port, gin," Potter recites, pulling each bottle up briefly to allow Draco to see their labels.

"Whisky," Draco says and then adds "please," when he remembers his manners. Potter squats down next to the bar and opens another part of the contraption in order to pull out two glasses. He pours significantly more than a finger into each of them and then hands one of the glasses to Draco.

"Thank you."

"It's the least I can do." Potter sits down next to Draco on the sofa. He kicks his shoes off and pulls his knees up in front of him, leaning back into the cushions. He takes a large sip of his whisky and then throws his head back to rest on the back of the sofa. "Fuck," he says, still staring at the ceiling. Then he seems to come to himself and he sits up again. "I'm so sorry about this, Malfoy."

"I'm not even sure what _this_ is." Potter grimaces and takes another sip of his whisky. Almost a quarter of the amber liquid is gone and Draco has not even had a single sip of his. He raises his glass to his lips and lets the whisky slide over his tongue. It is very peaty and the taste of it recalls memories of home and sneaking into Lucius's whisky collection when he was fifteen.

"It's complicated," Potter says. "And I'm not going to get into it before Parkinson gets here."

"I take it she wasn't originally part of the plan?"

"No, she wasn't." A thought occurs to Draco.

"Was that even a real date?" He watches Potter's face carefully and his heart sinks when he sees a small frown flit across Potter's face. Potter seems to think that this an important enough conversation to warrant sitting up again, which he does, placing his feet back on the floor and turning to look at Draco.

"Yes and no."

"That's not a real answer." Draco tries to think back to all the things they talked about. He knows he bared his soul to Potter, and he regrets this now. Potter puts a hand up to his forehead and massages his temples between his thumb and middle finger.

"The pretense for the date was a pretense," Potter says eventually, lowering his hand again. "But everything else was real."

"So you're saying the kissing _was_ real then?" Draco is not sure why he picked that to be the thing he fixed on. He figures it has something to do with the fact that he hasn't been on a date in two months. Perhaps Greg is right. Draco _does_ want to fuck Potter.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Prove it?"

"Kiss me."

"Kiss you?"

"Yes, damn it."

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Ok." Potter shifts sideways on the sofa until he is pressed up beside Draco. Then he reaches out with his free hand and cups Draco's cheek, turning his face until they are looking at each other. Draco realizes he has been holding his breath and takes a hurried breath through his nose. He can smell Potter's cologne. It is spicy and sweet in a way that reminds Draco of chai tea. Potter closes the gap between them and presses their lips together.

And then the doorbell rings and they spring guiltily apart.


	6. Draco Versus The Sleepover

Happy Valentine's Day!

* * *

"Major," Harry says as he opens the door. Parkinson is standing on his stoop and he ushers her quickly inside.

"Potter," she acknowledges as the door closes behind her. "Nice place you have." She looks around the entrance hallway appreciatively. Harry nods stiffly and leads her into the sitting room, where he left Malfoy.

The blond has pulled his legs up on the couch in a criss cross in front of him in the time Harry has been gone, but other than that, he is right where Harry left him. He looks up as they enter and nods at Parkinson. After acknowledging him, she sits down on one of the two armchairs. Harry retakes his seat next to Malfoy.

"Where were we?" Parkinson asks.

"Someone stole a book?" Malfoy hazards.

"Oliver Wood." Parkinson practically spits out the name.

"And I read it, which seemingly was the wrong thing to do." At this, Parkinson gives a short, humorless laugh.

"It was probably not what we would have preferred you do," Harry says. Parkinson shoots him a quick glance and then returns her attention to Malfoy.

"Can someone explain to me what this book was?" he asks. "And why it's such a big deal? And why I seem to know random shit that I didn't before?"

"Did you want to take this?" Parkinson asks Harry. He considers for a moment and then shakes his head.

"You know more about it than I do," he says. She gives him a quick nod and then sits up straighter in her chair.

"For the past six months," she says. "Every department in the Ministry, and a few foreign agencies, gave information to The Reliquary. Unorganized secrets, just off the wire and a decent number of archived secrets. The magic behind it works as a brain, sorting the information and finding patterns in the chatter. Using all the data it is able to piece together things we haven't and it can give us a bit of forewarning. How it does that, I'm not exactly sure - no one gave me those details.

"But one thing is fore sure: it was never intended for civilian use. In fact, I'm not even sure quite what it _was_ meant for as it was stolen before it was ever actually put into use."

"And now I've read it," Malfoy says softly.

"Yes, you have. And now all those secrets and all that data are in your head."

"Well that explains Mottić," Malfoy mutters almost too quietly for Harry to hear. Harry perks up.

"What about Mottić?" he asks. Harry knows that the Croatian diplomat is in London, but it seems Malfoy, or more accurately The Reliquary inside of Malfoy's head, knows something he doesn't.

"Nothing," Malfoy says. He looks up from his whiskey glass. "I just saw a picture of him in this morning's Prophet and knew everything about him. It was unnerving." Harry lets out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Look," he says. "I know that this must be a bit of a shock to the system," he says and Malfoy scoffs. "And I'm sorry that you have gotten caught up in this, but we're going to have to bring you in to the Ministry so that the higher ups can figure out what to do with you." Malfoy's mouth twists into a grimace and he taps his thumb nervously on the side of his glass. Harry looks up at Parkinson who is frowning at Malfoy. When she feels Harry's gaze on her, she looks up and catches his eye. She purses her lips together briefly and the begins to speak again.

"That's not the only thing," she says. "I know you think I came into that restaurant wands blazing-"

"-Well, you did," Harry interjects. She shoots him a glare.

"Fine, I did, but it was only because there was an incoming hostile and I wanted to protect his sorry arse." She jabs a thumb at Malfoy. Harry's breath catches. How had he missed that threat? If Parkinson notices his alarm, she doesn't comment on it. "I neutralized the man while you two ran out the back. The DMLEHS should have picked him up by now."

"Tell me exactly what happened," Harry says. She sighs.

"I was watching you two from the street. You both looked adorable by the way." Harry is suddenly very aware of how close he is sitting to Malfoy. Is it too close? Suspiciously close? Would Parkinson figure out that they had been kissing before she arrived? Even if it had been for all of two seconds.

"And then after about an hour, a different waiter emerged from the kitchen, only he was wasn't carrying food. He had a Confuso-bomb and a Portable Swamp." Harry raises his eyebrows. "Yes, I know, classic kidnapping materials."

"I'm sorry," Malfoy cuts in. " _Kidnapping_? With a Portable Swamp?"

"It's quite common these days," Parkinson explains in a bored voiced. "Confuso-bomb takes you unawares and then you get stuck in the boggy parts of the Portable Swamp when you try to stagger away. Even if you don't get stuck fast, you are slowed down. Then someone comes in with a Stunner. And one, two, three and Bob's your uncle." She makes a gesture with her hands to indicate tying someone up. Malfoy looks mollified.

"I've tried to get Ron to discontinue those swamps," Harry says. "But George insists on keeping them. You know, because Fred invented them." He is not sure that either of them know what he is talking about, but neither of them say anything. After a long enough silence has passed for it to become awkward, Parkinson nods and continues.

"So I acted immediately. I'm sure General Dempsey won't be pleased that I made such a mess, but I had to protect Draco." She shrugs. "I would have gotten the guy in the first shot if your shield hadn't gone up so fast, Potter." But she smirks to let Harry know that she's not overly annoyed."Kudos to you for your reflexes." He gives her a small, tight lipped smile.

"But why would they come after me?" Malfoy asks. Harry thinks that he looks more pale than usual.

"That is a good question," Parkinson says. "And one that I do not know the answer to. Potter, how good are your security wards?"

"I'm offended you would even ask."

"I'm going to add a couple more. Draco, you're going to stay here tonight."

"But-" Malfoy begins to protest, but Parkinson shakes her head sharply at him and he quiets.

She pulls out her wand and walks into the hallway. Harry thinks perhaps he should have put up more of a fight about the situation, but he knows the Major is right. This _is_ the safest place right now. They can bring Malfoy in to the Ministry in the morning.

He turns to look at Malfoy, concerned that they have thrust too much information on him in one go. The blond is staring into the middle distance, eyes glassy, still clutching his now empty whiskey glass.

"Would you like some more?" Harry asks, gesturing to the glass. Malfoy shrugs.

"Possibly." Harry stands and walks over to the bar. He puts a hand against the wall as casually as he can so that he can feel what protection Parkinson is adding to the house. He frowns when he does not recognize the ward she is using and goes back to getting Malfoy some more to drink. He pulls the bottle out of its resting place and carries it over to the couch. He has the feeling they might be needing it again.

"Someone has a heat tracking spell on your house, Potter," Parkinson says as she walks back into the room.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asks. He looks around the room as if whomever has placed it there might be hiding behind some furniture. Parkinson shrugs.

"I couldn't tell where it was coming from, so I didn't disable it in case it raised any flags." She sits back down in the armchair. "Or in case it was your spell," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

"What does that mean?" Malfoy asks.

"Well, someone wants to know when people move about this house, when they come and go, what room they're in. That kind of thing."

"I'm never leaving." Malfoy pulls his knees up in front of him and wraps his arms around them. "Nothing is safe."

"Perhaps," Harry says as the thought occurs to him. "Someone is trying to figure out if we're on a real date." Parkinson frowns at him. Now that she has put up her own security wards, she seems more relaxed and so has pulled her feet up under her on the chair.

"Why would they care?" Parkinson asks.

"Why would they try to kidnap either of us?" Harry asks, sitting up straighter, convinced that he's figured it out. "I will confess, it's not the first time someone has tried to kidnap me and make me fall in love with them." Both Malfoy and Parkinson stare at him, eyes bulging. "What? I'm Savior of the Wizarding World and all that." Malfoy snorts. Parkinson looks over at the blond, catches his eye and smirks at him.

"Isn't that why you went on the date, Draco?" she asks sweetly.

"Hell no," Malfoy says. "I agreed to go on this date because Potter's decently attractive and he asked me out." Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise before he can stop himself and his pulses races unexpectedly. Parkinson eyes Harry critically for a moment and then shrugs.

"Eh, he's not my type," she says. She begins to study her nails in disinterest.

"So he's not Marcus Belby then?" Malfoy asks. Parkinson looks up in surprise, her mouth in a small O. Malfoy chuckles to himself.

"How-?" she starts to ask.

"Oh, Pans," Malfoy says, reaching over to pat her on the hand. "It was painfully obvious. All those longing glances over at the Ravenclaw table…" he trails off.

"Fine," she says after a moment. "If we're going to bring up school day crushes," she pauses, sitting up straighter in the chair again. She takes a deep breath and Harry thinks she has been steeling herself to say this to Malfoy for a long time. "You know, if you had just kept your eye on the snitch instead of on Potter during Quidditch games, we just might have won more of them."

…

Draco's mouth drops open in surprise and he feels blood rise in his cheeks. Of all the crushes he had thought Pansy might bring up, this was not the one he had expected. He had been unaware that anyone had even known he'd even liked Potter back at school. Or, more accurately, lusted after him. (In all of his teenage fantasies, they had fortuitously run into each other in some place like the Quidditch showers and had angry, hate sex and then never spoken again.)

And the fact that she had the gall to bring it up in front of Potter himself! Even if they are on a date. Or a fake date. Draco is no longer sure what this evening counts as. But either way, to Pansy's eyes, this was a mission of Potter's. Why would she bring it up? It is so Slytherin of her.

He risks a glance at Potter. The brunet looks as though he is trying his hardest not to laugh.

"Yeah? Well, you were dying to fuck Cormac McLaggen," Draco snaps. Potter lets out the laugh he has so clearly been holding in.

"That arsehole?" he asks. Pansy crosses her arms and stares daggers at Draco. Then she turns to Potter and says,

"Emphasis on the past tense, Potter. That _arsehole_ , as you so eloquently put it, tried to ask me out on the first week of Hit Wizard training. He was under the impression that as one of the only women on the squad, I would, of course, be panting to go out with any of my fellow Hit Wizards - you know, that being the only reason I joined up," she pauses long enough to roll her eyes. "So I punched him in the face and broke his nose in front of the entire squad." Potter grins.

"Nice one," he says. Pansy allows herself a small smile.

"Yes, well, he's still an arse and I still have to work with him, but I outrank him now." She gives a small shrug of her shoulders as if to say that she is done talking about McLaggen. Draco is almost sorry that he brought it up, until he remembers what caused him to blurt it out in the first place.

"So people routinely try to make you fall in love with them?" he asks Potter. The other man at least has the grace to look sheepish.

"Yes," he says. "It had stopped for a while because I was in a relationship." He pauses, looking uncomfortable. "But, uh, that ended."

"So you're concerned someone would try again now that you're 'back on the market' so to speak?" Pansy asks. Potter nods. Pansy frowns at him and chews her lip thoughtfully. "I've heard of crazier things. It would explain why someone had a tracker on _your_ house and not Draco's. Although, I haven't checked Draco's."

"It's clean," Potter says.

"You spied on my house?" Draco asks. For some reason this, more than anything else, is what feels most like a betrayal.

"It's my job," Potter says quickly, but he looks flustered.

"And yet you don't check you own wards?" Pansy asks slowly. Draco is grateful that she is there to voice the questions he wants to, but wouldn't dare ask. He looks sideways at Potter whose mouth is now a tight line. Potter takes a deep breath in through his nose.

"I checked them this morning," he says, his shoulders tense, his eyes blazing. "I should have checked them the moment we walked in the door, but I was a little distracted. You know, making sure that Malfoy was alright." Pansy nods, lips pursed.

"Still sloppy," she mutters, looking away.

"I _know_ ," Potter spits out. He takes a pair of deep breaths. "But now it seems we're stuck with it until the morning."

"Why the morning?" Draco asks.

"Well, if someone _is_ watching," Pansy says. "It might seem odd that their spell has been discovered so long after you both arrived. I imagine the general public is unaware that Agent Potter is in fact an Unspeakable and so would not expect him to be overly paranoid."

"Just normal paranoid?" Draco asks.

"Yes," she continues. "They might think he would notice the spell when he relaxed his wards upon arriving home, but since that moment has passed, I'm sure whomever cast it is pleased that it has slipped past his notice." Draco frowns. On the one hand he thinks this makes sense, but on the other hand, he thinks the pair of them are far too paranoid with all their second guessing.

But then, Draco is not a spy. For all he knows, this is how all spies think. He makes a mental note to double check his wards when he gets home If they ever let him _go_ home. And then, suddenly, going home is all he wants to do.

"I think you're both being ridiculous," he says. He is feeling emboldened by the whisky. "I will not be staying. You can come and take me to the Ministry in the morning if you must." He puts his glass down decisively on the side table and tries to stand but is impeded by both the soft sofa cushions and his not insignificant level of intoxication. Potter puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down.

"You will be staying," he says firmly.

"And you will be staying in his bed," Pansy adds. Draco shakes his head.

"I told you," Draco protests. "Not on the first date." Pansy snorts in amusement and Draco allows himself to be pushed back into the couch cushions. He crosses his arms and scowls at both of them.

"You'll be safest there," Pansy says. "And it has the bonus of adding legitimacy to your date if that is in fact what the heat tracking spell is for."

"But then what are you here for? What does the heat tracking spell say about you?"

"That I came by for a drink and then fell asleep on your couch."

"In which case," Potter says. "Would you like a drink?" Pansy reaches up and scratches her head, nestling back further in her chair.

"Fuck it," she says. "What do you have?"

…

Part of Pansy thinks she should not have a drink, but a much larger part of her thinks she's had a bitch of a night and that she deserves it. She's checked Potter's wards. They're solid and she's added a few of her own. Did she make up the heat tracking spell to fuck with Draco? Maybe. But they weren't so uncommon that Potter wouldn't have known what to do about it. It was just an added bonus that Potter's clearly had kidnapping threats before, which makes him just that added touch more paranoid. Plus, after the McLaggen comment, Draco had _earned_ being fucked with.

She was curious to know who Potter had been dating so recently before he'd asked Draco out, but she is not about to ask. It is none of her business. She does not subscribe to any of those Witch Weekly magazines, but she'll flick through one if there's a copy at the hairdresser. She seems to recall that he had dated the female Weasley right out of school, but he has mostly stayed clear of the gossip pages since then. She is actually almost amazed that she cannot name who the most famous wizard in the world is dating. Grudgingly, she finds has a new modicum of respect for Potter.

It still does not explain how he ended up as an Unspeakable though. She would love to pick Croaker's brain on that decision, but it is not her place. She has never heard Dempsey, nor any of the other higher ups, complain about his work, so he must hide his goings on from the public somehow. Or perhaps he uses his celebrity to get into places that might be otherwise off limits to the public. Either way, that is none of her concern at the moment.

"Whisky, vodka, gin, tequila." Potter breaks into her thoughts by listing off the contents of his bar.

"Whatever he's having," she says, pointing to Draco. Potter nods and brings over a glass. He picks up the bottle of whisky that is sitting on the coffee table in front of them and pours her a large splash. "Ta." She takes a sip and nods appreciatively. Potter has good taste.

They sit in silence for a while, each of them lost in their thoughts and their whisky glasses. Finally Pansy asks,

"Did you know the Reliquary was from him?" Draco blinks and frowns at her. "Did you know it was from Wood?"

"Yes," he says quietly.

"How?" Draco says nothing just points to the watch on his wrist. "How did you know that was his?" She watches as a flush creeps up his face. He takes a deep breath.

"We dated," he says, so quietly that Pansy almost doesn't hear it.

"So you were in on it?" She sits up straighter and her hand inches towards her wand holster. Draco shakes his head.

"That was years ago. I hadn't heard from him in," he pauses, a small frown on his face. "Well, since he quit United." Pansy nods. She remembers that it was quite the news story several years ago.

"So why did you read it then?" she asks. Draco shrugs.

"It was a book," he says by way of explanation. And Pansy understands, because he's Draco and _of course_ he would read it. He loves books. The number of times she had roused him at the end of the evening in the Slytherin Common Room because he had fallen asleep in front of the fire reading. An unexpected feeling of warmth blossoms in her chest. She had forgotten how fond of the idiot she was. Or, had been, before sixth year.

"Right, yes. Draco and books," she says. "How could I forget?" Potter perks up at this.

"Draco was secretly a nerd?" he asks, glee obvious in his tone. Pansy narrows her eyes at the brunet.

"Potter," she says. "You were best friends with Granger. How do you get off calling people nerds?" Potter at least has the grace to look ashamed.

"Fair point," he concedes. "But then why were you so mean to her in school?" Pansy stifles a laugh. Is Potter really that dense?

"Because she was smarter than he was," she says. Draco frowns at her, but she knows she is right.

"My father used to give me a hard time about it," he mutters, crossing his arms and glowering at the coffee table.

"You still got better grades than Potter," she points out.

"Like that was hard," Draco says and now it's Potter's turn to get offended, which he predictably does, scowling at the both of them and muttering something that Pansy can't catch.

"What's Granger up to these days anyway?" Draco asks, changing the subject.

"She's the Deputy Head of our department," Pansy says.

"The whole department," Potter adds. "Which means she's in charge of both of us." He looks less thrilled with this than Pansy would have expected.

"I see," Draco says. He leans forward, reaching for the whisky bottle before he seemingly changes his mind and instead slumps back into the sofa cushions. He places his empty glass on the side table and then reaches up to massage his temples.

"You look tired," Pansy says. Draco drops his hands back into his lap.

"I _am_ tired," he says. "I was up most of the night reading that damn book." Pansy arches an eyebrow at him. "Trust me, if I could have stopped reading, I would have. But it wouldn't let me stop until I had read the whole thing." Pansy rolls her eyes at him. She still can't believe he is the person who has read The Reliquary. Not for the first that day time she wishes that she had gotten to Wood faster. She takes a large swig of her whisky as the image of his face, wand flashing at his temple, crosses her mind. Fuck. And it turns out Draco had dated him.

"Perhaps we should go to bed then," Potter says. Draco turns to look at him. "And I swear I just mean bed." But Pansy can see that Draco is too tired to even contemplate any sort of witty response. Instead, the blond just nods and starts to drag himself upright.

"G'night, Pans'," Draco all but slurs at her.

"Are you sure you're alright here?" Potter asks Pansy. "I have a spare bedroom downstairs if you'd prefer." She nods and he reaches to put the whisky away. She puts a hand out to stop him.

"Can you leave that?" she asks. He looks at her for a long moment before nodding and following Draco out of the sitting room. She bizarrely wants to apologize to Potter. She wants to tell him that Wood's death wasn't her fault, that he had been the one in the wrong, but she knows now is not the time. She knows they will have that fight at some point and it is part of the reason she wants some more whisky before she closes her eyes for the night.

As the sitting room door closes behind her, she suddenly feels incredibly alone.

…

"So, uh, this is my bedroom," Potter says, once he and Draco have made their way up the stairs. The bed is unmade, duvet spilling half onto the floor and a pile of pillows to the side. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Clearly." But Draco is too tired to care. He frowns in annoyance that he does not have a toothbrush, nor any of his nightly face creams, but he supposes one night without them won't be the end of the world. There is an ensuite bathroom and Potter gestures towards it.

Draco takes the hint and goes about getting ready for bed as best he can, using his wand and a clumsy teeth cleaning spell in place of his toothbrush. He can't help but look around the bathroom as he washes his hands. It has clearly been a bathroom for two quite recently. There are two sets of toiletries at the two sinks. And again, Draco feels oddly betrayed.

Potter had said he was newly single, but Draco hadn't expected it to be this recent. But then, their date wasn't real. Or it was real in that they had kissed, but it wasn't in that Potter had asked him out under false pretenses. He doesn't know where he stands with the brunet at this point. And right now, it doesn't fucking matter anyway because Pansy is downstairs. She was always _so good_ at cockblocking.

Draco splashes water on his face in lieu of washing it properly and picks up a towel to dry off. This towel most definitely has someone's cologne on it. But it is not the spicy sweetness of Potter's cologne. No, this scent tickles his memory and makes his stomach lurch. He lowers the towel and lifts Oliver's watch to his nose. And his heart sinks.

He tries to tell himself that many people probably use this brand of cologne, that it could be anyone. But somehow he knows it was Oliver. And suddenly Potter's motives seem all too clear.

He throws the towel down into the sink and storms back out into the bedroom. Potter looks up in surprise from where he is lounging on the bed.

"Oliver Wood was the boyfriend who just broke up with you?" He does not raise his voice because he doesn't want Pansy to hear, but he makes sure to sound angry nonetheless, his voice barely above a hiss. Potter gapes at him, blinking rapidly.

"How?" he splutters. Draco stalks back into the bathroom, picks up the towel and then flings it at Potter.

"This," he spits. "You haven't even done the fucking laundry yet. His towels still smell like him, you arsehole."

"You still remember what he smells like?" Potter seems genuinely surprised. Draco's shoulders slump as the fight goes out of him. He nods. "After all this time?"

"Yes, after all this fucking time." There is a bench at the end of the bed, onto which Potter has moved the spare pillows. Draco sinks down onto it, spilling pillows onto the floor.

"Oh," is all that Potter says. Draco pulls his knees up onto the bench and wraps his arms around them.

"So, the only reason you asked me out was to figure out why he didn't send that damn book to you."

"Malfoy, I told you that. It's my job to-"

"-But it was more than that. Wasn't it?" He turns to glare at Potter, his eyes filling with tears which he angrily blinks away. He should not be this upset, but he has had far too much to drink this evening and his emotions are fried, what with Oliver's watch reminding him anew that they're no longer together. And that they haven't been for years. He is no longer sure why he put it on this morning. It was stupid.

"No," Potter says softly. "Oliver." He pauses for a long moment. "Oliver is gone."

"And I'm what? A rebound who happens to conveniently be part of your case?"

"No."

"Stop fucking lying to me." Potter sighs deeply and then swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. He walks over to where Draco is sitting and sits down beside him. He tries to take Draco's hand, but Draco snatches it away.

"OK, fine. You want the truth?" Draco nods. "The truth is, I don't know what's going on. Did I ask you out as part of my mission to find The Reliquary? Yes. Am I newly single and do we share the same ex-boyfriend? Also yes. But I swear to god that has nothing to do with how I'm feeling now. Which, granted, is conflicted. I like you and would like to keep seeing you, rebound, or mission be damned. But I can't. You're an asset now, or at least, I'm pretty sure you will be once we take you in tomorrow. And someone else will be assigned as your handler and I won't be able to see you any more. Perhaps I leapt at the opportunity to ask you out because I was recently heartbroken. I don't know. Either way, here we are." Draco blinks slowly at Potter, trying to untangle everything he just said.

"Are all your relationships this complicated, Potter?" Draco asks. Potter gives a sharp bark of unamused laughter.

"No, but you've always been special."

"Special?"

"Especially annoying." Draco twists his mouth in disbelief and narrows his eyes at Potter.

"Sure." And then before Draco can say anything else, Potter's mouth crashes into his. As his lips part in surprise, he feels Potter's tongue slip inside and he tentatively reaches out with his own tongue to meet it. But then Potter's tongue slides away to run along the inside of Draco's upper lip and Draco gasps at how lovely that feels. And then, just as Draco is starting to get into the kiss, Potter pulls away.

"No,"he says. "Sorry. I can't. I shouldn't."

"Because of Oliver?"

"No, because it's unprofessional. You're an asset and-"

"-And you made it sound like this could never happen again."

"Exactly," Potter seems relieved that Draco understands what he is trying to say.

"So, you're saying that we should take advantage of now, before we run out of chances?" Draco is rewarded by Potter's eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Uh," he says. Draco smirks at him.

"I was lying earlier," he says. Confusion fills Potter's eyes.

"About what?"

"I was lying when I said that I don't fuck on the first date." Potter's mouth falls open in a small o and Draco takes advantage of this, tangling his fingers into Potter's messy hair and pulling him back into a kiss. If tonight is going to be his only opportunity for any of his teenage fantasies to come true, he sure as fuck is not going to waste the chance. Rebound or not, mission or not, he wants Potter in his bed, just this once. In fact, even more so since it can only be this once - there won't be any messy relationship to deal with later. It will be just like his teenage fantasies: they'll sleep together and then never speak again.

Potter, after a moment's hesitation, reciprocates. And soon Draco feels insistent hands pawing at his shirt buttons. He reaches up and undoes the top few before pulling the shirt over his head in one swift movement. Potter blinks in surprise and Draco takes that moment to take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. He blushes as he watches Potter's eyes sweep over his naked torso and he tries to fight off his self consciousness. He lifts his arms and tries to disrobe Potter to give himself something to do with his hands, but the other man bats him away. Draco frowns then watches with comprehension as Potter quickly unhooks each button with surprising adroitness.

"'S faster," Potter mutters before dropping the shirt to the floor. He grabs at Draco's waist and pulls them back together again. And then they are falling on the bed, pressing hard against each other. Draco throws his head back as Potter trails a line of kisses down his neck, his mouth hot against Draco's skin. And it is everything that he could have imagined and more. He wants to just drink this moment in.

Potter's hands are roaming over his chest, slowly inching their way downwards so Draco decides to take charge of the situation, reaching down swiftly to deal with Potter's belt buckle. He hears Potter's sharp intake of breath and Draco's pulse, which was already racing, picks up even more. Potter's hips buck against his and he can feel Potter's arousal through the linen of his trousers.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks and undoes the top button of Potter's trousers. Potter turns his head and gently nibbles Draco's earlobe. And Circe, Draco didn't know that could feel so good. Clearly, living out one's teenage fantasies is something he should have done years ago.

He fumbles Potter's trousers down to his thighs and Potter takes the opportunity to bite down hard on Draco's shoulder. Draco hisses in surprise and pulls back. And then he feels Potter's hands on his own waistband, fumbling with the clasp. In a moment, his trousers are down too, and then the only thing separating the two of them is the thin fabric of their underwear. Draco's whole body is heady with anticipation and he knows he won't last long once things really get going.

He weaves the fingers of his right hand back into Potter's hair and pulls their mouths back together and then reaches down the back of Potter's underwear with his other hand. And then, before he can quite comprehend what is happening, his boxers are around his knees and Potter's hand is on him and he is crying out in pleasure and spending himself all over Potter's stomach.

"Fuck," he says, pressing his forehead into Potter's shoulder. "Sorry." Potter lifts his face up by his chin until they are staring each other in the eye.

"It's fine," he says and kisses Draco again. Draco pulls away.

"I should clean that up," he stammers. Potter shakes his head and holds his arm out. His wand flies into his hand and he waves it over the two of them, cleaning them with a quietly muttered charm. Then he smiles and cups Draco's head in his hands and goes right back to kissing him. And Draco realizes that he's not going to get much sleep that night and Merlin is that alright with him.

* * *

I'm so sorry this is so terribly late. My beta reader has been so busy that I gave up waiting in the end. So if there are huge glaring errors, you can blame me.


	7. Draco Versus The Daily Prophet

I know this is ridiculously late and I am so sorry about that. I was busy writing and throwing a Harry Potter Murder Mystery party and that took ALL of my time. It was worth the effort though :)  
If anyone is curious about it, please feel free to DM me. I'm trying to put together a share-able copy.

* * *

Harry is awoken by a loud pounding on his bedroom door. He groans as the sound manifests itself as a headache. He blinks slowly. His eyes feel like they have been glued together and his mouth is dry. He shuts his eyes again and rolls over to wrap an arm around Oliver.

And then the memories of the night before crash into his brain and he realizes that it's not Oliver that he is clutching at, but Draco Malfoy. He freezes as Malfoy shifts under his touch. Part of him can't quite believe that they slept together and the other part of him thinks that it has been coming since they both left Hogwarts. Maybe.

Either way, he has a naked Draco Malfoy in his bed and an unknown person banging on his door. _No_ , he thinks, _not unknown. That's Parkinson._

And suddenly he is heart-poundingly wide awake. If Parkinson opens the door and finds them like this, Harry won't hear the end of it. In fact, he could quite possibly lose his job.

He disentangles himself from Malfoy and covers the blond up. Then he grabs his bathrobe from behind the door and wraps it around himself before cracking open the door. As expected, Major Parkinson stands outside. She is tapping her foot in irritation.

"What?" he demands, keeping his voice to a whisper.

"It's nine thirty."

"And? It's a Sunday."

"And everyone is waiting on us to bring in the Reliquary." Harry's shoulders slump. What he would do for another couple of hours of sleep. Then he straightens and nods.

"Right," he says. "Yes. Give us about twenty minutes and we'll meet you downstairs." Parkinson raises an eyebrow at him and Harry wonders if all Slytherins have natural eyebrow raising abilities.

"If it's Draco, it's going to be at least an hour." She turns away. "In the meantime, I'm going to raid your kitchen for coffee," she says as she starts down the stairs.

"Sounds good," Harry says to her retreating back. She waves a hand of thanks at him and then turns the corner of the stairs. As she does, Harry wonders if he will ever understand her. He doubts it. Not that he necessarily needs to, them being on different teams and all. He shakes his head and then closes the bedroom door. He turns back to the bed and stares at the still naked Draco Malfoy who is asleep there. Fuck, but last night should not have happened.

He walks tentatively over to Malfoy's side of the bed and puts a hand on the blond's shoulder. He does not stir, so Harry begins to gently shake it. He gets a slap in the face for his efforts.

"Ow," he cries, leaping backward and putting a hand to his cheek.

"Fuck off, Greg," Malfoy mutters, not opening his eyes.

"I am _not_ Greg," Harry says. Malfoy cracks one eye open. A frown crosses his face.

"Potter?" he croaks. Harry puts on what he hopes is a winning smile.

"Hi," he says.

"What the fuck are-" and then Malfoy pauses and Harry knows that he is now suddenly recalling last night too. Malfoy frowns, squeezing his eyes shut and then he opens both of them. He shifts around in the bed until he is half sitting, propped up on his elbows. He fixes Harry with an intense stare. "Did we fuck last night?"

"Yes," Harry says.

"Then that wasn't a dream."

"No, it wasn't."

"And we really…?"

"Yes," Harry says. "Yes, it was more than once." He can't keep a smile off of his face as he says this.

"And you're waking me up at this ungodly hour because?"

"Parkinson says we need to go into the Ministry." Malfoy groans and collapses back onto the pillow, shutting his eyes again. Harry reaches out and gently prods him. Malfoy feebly swats him away.

"Go away," he says, covering his eyes with his forearm.

"No," Harry says firmly. "You need to get up. Or do you want Parkinson walking in and finding you naked in my bed?" Malfoy lays still for a moment before he lowers his arm and shakes his head.

"She probably already has a pretty good idea of what went on. You're not exactly quiet, Potter."

"The room is quite well soundproofed I'll have you know."

"Oh, now you tell me," Malfoy snaps. He sits up, making sure to keep the sheets across his lap.

"That was you trying to be quiet?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Malfoy glares at him.

"Fuck you, Potter," he mutters.

"I believe you already did." As much as common sense would tell Harry to stop flirting at this point as nothing good can come of it, he finds he can't help himself. Last night was better than he would have thought possible. And the fact that Malfoy hasn't now cursed him from here to next Sunday seems like a good indication that he had enjoyed it too. If only Malfoy hadn't read that damn book, Harry could convince himself that perhaps they could have made this work. But there is no sense dwelling on that now.

"You know, you're not as funny as you think you are, Potter," Malfoy says, still glaring at him. Harry shrugs.

"I'm going to go shower," he says. "Don't go back to sleep in the meantime. I don't want to keep Parkinson waiting." Malfoy crosses his arms in front of his chest and keeps up his glare. It is effective, and Harry walks awkwardly over the bathroom, somehow feeling like a stranger in his own home.

He shuts the bathroom door behind him and releases the tension he had not realized he was carrying in his shoulders. He is not sure why Malfoy still makes him so nervous but he sure as hell does. He sighs and shrugs out of his bathrobe. He turns on the shower and brushes his teeth while he waits for the shower to warm up.

The water feels amazing as he steps under it. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth wash over him. He stands that way for a long moment, replaying memories from the night before in his minds eye. He can't believe he let himself get carried away like that. But at the same time, he doesn't regret it.

He hears the squeak of a door hinge and he hurriedly wipes water out of his eyes. Malfoy's face peers around the gap of the open door, and then he pushes it fully open. Harry instinctively grabs a washcloth to cover himself. He stares, bug eyed, as Malfoy walks into the bathroom as naked as the day he was born.

"What?" he splutters. "What are you doing?" Malfoy shrugs, opens the shower door and steps inside.

"I wanted to see what you were like when we weren't drunk," he says. He takes a step towards Harry and Harry's breath catches in his throat. Malfoy's hair is a disheveled halo, sticking up in all directions from his head. His grey eyes bore into Harry's as he takes another step towards him. The sensible part of Harry's brain is screaming that he should put a stop to this before it gets any further, but he ignores it. He knows he might regret this later, but right now he just doesn't care.

He stays under the shower stream, but he lets the washcloth drop and fact that he is excited to see Malfoy becomes abundantly clear. The corner of Malfoy's mouth quirks up into a smirk. He stands, just staring at Harry, for a long moment, before he steps even closer. He is within arm's reach now, but Harry is going to stand his ground and make the blond come to him. Malfoy, perhaps sensing this, finally closes the distance between them, reaching out and pulling Harry against himself.

"Hi," he says quietly, his nose inches from Harry's. He has water drops on his eyelashes from the spray of the shower. He looks vaguely angelic, save for the devilish smirk of his mouth.

"Hello," Harry replies. He leans forward and presses their noses together, still keeping eye contact.

"Mm, you're really going to make me work for this, aren't you?" Malfoy asks. Harry smiles mischievously and nods. In response, Malfoy wraps his arms tighter around Harry and pulls them more tightly together. When Harry's mouth falls open in surprise, Malfoy takes the opportunity to finally kiss him.

…

Finding Draco's clothes after they finish showering is a slight challenge, which is not helped by the fact that Draco is still a bit sex dazed after their shower activities. He finds his underwear under the bed and his socks tangled in the duvet. And everything is wrinkled from having been tossed distractedly to the floor.

However, this isn't Draco's first rodeo and he knows all the spells for wrinkle release and beyond. Within minutes, he looks put together, even if he feels like he should look a mess given his nighttime activities.

As he looks at himself in the mirror, he notices a bruise on the side of his neck. It's clearly Potter's handiwork. He scowls at his reflection, though a small part of him thrills at the sight. However, it won't do to go to the Ministry with Potter's mark on him, so he raises his wand and hides the blemish.

He nods to Potter as he walks back into the bedroom, a small smirk crossing his face as he catches Potter's eye. The brunet flushes and Draco's smile grows wider. He knows he is going to replay the memories from his time with for the next few months while he jerks himself off - once he's inevitably alone again.

The smell of coffee reaches his nose as Potter opens the door to the bedroom. Zombie-like, Draco follows his nose down two floors to the kitchen. There, he finds Pansy and a fresh pot of coffee. He watches as her eyes rake his body and he fights the urge to blush.

"Morning," he says, nodding at her.

"Hi," she says. "How'd you sleep?" Is it his imagination, or is there a small smirk on her face? He decides to act as if there isn't.

"Oh, fine," he replies. "Yourself?" She shrugs.

"As well as can be expected."

"In all fairness, I did offer you a bed," Potter says, following Draco down the stairs.

"I actually accepted said offer," Pansy says. She points to a door off of the dining room. "The sheets are in the wash."

"Oh good. I'm glad you found the spare room."

"I'm glad she found the coffee," Draco says. He crosses the room to the coffee pot and reaches for it before realizing he doesn't know where any of the glassware is. Potter notices his hesitation and raises his wand. A cupboard to Draco's right opens and two mugs fly out of it, landing with a soft clink on the counter next to the coffee. "Cheers." Draco pours two full mugs and carries one over to Potter who accepts it gratefully.

"Thanks." Potter takes a large sip of the steaming liquid, only grimacing slightly at the heat. He sighs. "That's better. Now, does anyone want breakfast?" Draco looks over at Pansy who checks her watch.

"I don't know if we have the time," she says. "I imagine Draco wants to change before we take him in."

"I think there's time for some toast," Potter protests. As Pansy opens her mouth to respond, he waves his wand again and six pieces of bread fly out from the breadbox and deposit themselves in the toaster oven, which dings to announce that it is on.

Pansy narrows her eyes at Potter but says nothing. Draco wants nothing to do with this strange power struggle and so quietly walks over to the dining room table and sits down. He puts his coffee down and leans over it, letting the scent wake him up as much as the coffee itself.

All things considered, he feels quite well rested. Or at the very least, he is not as tired as he was the day before, even though he didn't get all that much sleep. More than anything else, he feels hungover, although the shower did help with those feelings a bit. Potter must notice this, because a hangover potion lands in front of him a moment later. He looks up. Both Potter and Pansy are holding similar potions, which makes him feel a bit better, although he hadn't thought Pansy'd had that much to drink. Potter raises his potion in a toast. Draco picks his up, motions clinking in the air and then downs the liquid in one. Then he takes a quick sip of his coffee to get the bitter aftertaste out of his mouth. He shudders and makes a disgusted face.

"Circe," Pansy mutters, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. "You'd have thought they would have been able to come up with a better flavor by now."

"Oh well," Draco says. He closes his eyes as the feeling of warmth starts in his chest and then spreads over his body. The faint feeling of nausea dissipates and his headache leaves him. He takes a deep breath and marvels at how much better he feels. It's been several years since Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes came out with the potions, and every time he has one, he is amazed at how well and how fast they work.

Just as he feels the warmth of the potion reach his fingertips, the toaster oven dings to indicate that the toast is done. He looks up to see Potter wave his wand again. Plates and cutlery fly around the kitchen. The fridge opens and the butter flies out, presumably to be applied to the toast, although Draco cannot see where it goes. A moment later, a plate with two pieces of toast lands in front of him. Pansy still looks a little annoyed that Potter has bothered with any sort of breakfast, but as a plate hovers in front of her, she accepts it with grace.

They join him at the table and start to discuss the logistics of bringing him into the Ministry. Draco has, of course, been in the Ministry of Magic before, so he's well aware of how to get there and thus tunes them out while he crunches on his toast. While he wouldn't have argued with Pansy about having breakfast, he is most definitely glad that he has it. The toast and the hangover potion are doing wonders on his mood. He feels positively happy, even while Pansy and Potter discuss what they think might happen to him in the Ministry. He knows part of is good mood is to do with all the sex they had last night and now that he has a bit less vertigo, he thinks back to the night before in earnest.

He is brought back to the present as his two breakfast companions turn to stare at him.

"What?" he asks through a mouthful of toast.

"Did you want to go home and change?" Pansy asks him, clearly annoyed at having to repeat herself. Draco swallows down the toast and nods.

"Please," he says.

"Right, then that decides it," Potter says. "I will escort Malfoy back to his house. Parkinson, we'll meet you at the external entrance to the ministry once you've showered and changed." Pansy nods once and then shoves altogether too much toast into her mouth before she shoves her chair back from the table and stands. She gives them both a small wave and then walks over to the fireplace behind Draco. She grabs a handful of Floo powder from where it sits on the mantlepiece and drops it into the grate. A green fire flares up, and she steps into it, saying her address so quietly that Draco can't catch it, even though he is only a few feet away.

And then they are alone again.

Potter seems to relax more once Pansy's spinning form has disappeared. He leans back in his chair and stretches, yawning as his arms reach high above his head.

"Mm," he says. "I could have done with a bit more sleep." He catches Draco's eye and grins.

"Sorry," Draco says.

"Don't be. You're not the reason I couldn't sleep in. Parkinson is. Who gets up at nine on a Sunday?" Draco does not want to point out that often he gets up at nine on a Sunday. He is worried it will make it sound like he has no social life. That is not the case, it's just that his body seems to wake him with the sun, whether or not he's done sleeping.

"Well, then I'm not sorry," he says instead.

"Good."

Silence falls as Draco turns his attention to his toast, not wanting to talk more about the night before. What would be the point? He finishes his toast and instead focuses on coffee. It is black, which is not how he prefers it, but he had not wanted to ask Potter where the milk and the sugar were and so has resigned himself to the bitterness.

Once Potter finishes his own toast, he waves his wand to send the plates to the sink. Then he turns to Draco.

"Ready?" he asks. Draco takes one last look around the kitchen and then nods.

"How are we getting there?" Draco asks. "Our Floo is set to Family Only." Potter has the nerve to look mockingly hurt.

"You mean, you didn't add me the moment I came over?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"We don't really use the Floo," Draco snaps, more irritated by Potter's teasing than he should be. Perhaps because it reminds him that this was just one night (and a shower) and that it won't happen again. "But I've let you in the wards, so we can probably apparate. If you give me some paper, I'll write down the coordinates."

…

The house is quiet when they arrive. Greg is either asleep or out, and Draco can't tell which. It feels decidedly odd arriving on the landing with Potter. He had done it so many times with Oliver, that for half a second, his body expected to see his sandy blond hair when Draco turned his head towards the person beside him.

"Uh, welcome back to my house," he says. "This is my floor." And then he feels really stuck up saying it. Because while it's true that the entire floor is his, it shouldn't entirely count as a floor. Perhaps he should have said this tower was his, because that _is_ more what it feels like. His little tower.

Potter doesn't say anything, just looks around, his hands clasped politely behind his back. Draco frowns at him and then gestures for him to go into the bedroom.

"Here," he says, gesturing to the armchair in the corner of the room. "Sit here while I get dressed." Potter nods and makes his way over to the armchair. But he does not sit. Instead, he turns and looks at Draco's bookshelves, turning his head slightly to read some of the titles. Draco watches him for a moment before walking back out into the landing where his closet is.

He pulls out a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before he stops himself. He looks at them and decides he should look more put together if he is going to be brought into the Ministry. So he stuffs the jeans back in their place and pulls out a pair of navy trousers and a white button down shirt. He starts to unbuckle his belt in the landing, the way he normally would, but again he stops himself. Instead, he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He knows that Potter has seen him naked several times in the last twelve hours, but changing somehow feels different.

Once he is done, he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He has dark circles under his eyes from the past few nights of little sleep, and his hair is uncharacteristically unruly. The hair he can fix though. He rummages in his vanity and pulls out a comb and some hair gel. He fiddles with his hair until he is satisfied and then, as an afterthought, brushes his teeth. Then he nods once at his reflection and walks out of the bathroom, leaving yesterday's clothes a pile on the floor.

He finds Potter sitting in the armchair, flipping through a Muggle fiction book that Draco had picked up the last time he was in Chelsea. He stands awkwardly for a moment, willing Potter to look up of his own accord, before coughing quietly. Potter looks up. A smile crosses his face.

"Don't you clean up nicely," he says. He puts his hands on the chairs arms and pushes himself exuberantly into a standing position.

"Shall we?" he asks. His tone is the opposite of how Draco feels, bright and carefree, and not like he is potentially leading Draco to be interrogated and locked up.

"Sure," Draco says. He leads the way downstairs.

…

As they pass through the Leaky Cauldron, Harry looks around them. He almost stops walking as he sees a man reading the Daily Prophet. Oliver's face blinks serenely back at him from the front page, under a headline of "Reclusive Ex-Keeper Found Dead". Seeing it that way feels like a punch to the stomach. He takes a deep breath and then notices that Malfoy has stopped walking. He turns to look at the blond.

Malfoy looks like he has just been slapped. He blinks rapidly. Harry feels a shot of guilt as he sees pain flash through Malfoy's eyes. Not for the first time in the last twenty four hours, Harry wonders if Malfoy has seriously dated anyone since Oliver.

It feels unfair that he should find out this way. Harry had at least been able to deal with his shock in private. He had been able to spend most of that first night crying into Oliver's pillow, inhaling his scent and attempting to commit it to memory before it faded for good. He wonders if he should somehow have brought this up the night before. But then he thinks, should he have brought it up before or after they'd taken all their clothes off? He blushes as his traitorous mind goes straight to the memory of how Malfoy's mouth felt around his dick. But now is quite definitely not the time for these thoughts, so he pushes the memory quickly away.

He reaches out and puts a hand on Malfoy's arm. They have both stopped walking now and are just standing in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry looks up as the woman behind the bar hurries over to them. He realizes it is Hannah Abbott and starts to raise his hand in hello. But Hannah only has eyes for Malfoy.

"Draco," she says as she reaches them. She reaches out and takes Malfoy's hands in hers. "Oh, Draco, honey, are you okay?" Malfoy is still staring at the front page of the Prophet. Hannah looks behind her, over at the man who is holding the newspaper. She gently leads Malfoy to a table and makes him sit down.

"Let me get you some coffee," she says.

"With some firewhisky," Malfoy mutters. Hannah meets Harry's eyes at this point and he shrugs in acquiescence. She hurries away and Harry sits down opposite Malfoy.

"Tell me you didn't know," Malfoy says, his eyes boring into Harry's. Harry sighs and looks away.

"I can't."

"You fucking knew and you didn't tell me?" Malfoy's voice is an angry hiss.

"It was classified Ministry-"

"-Oh save me the sanctimonious bullshit, Potter. You didn't tell me because you were thinking with your dick." Harry says nothing, but presses his mouth into a thin line. Malfoy is right, of course, but Harry is not about to admit it. Malfoy glares at him again and then crosses his arms and slumps back into his chair, all the fight going out of him. Harry takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should have told you. I should have found a way to bring it up." He takes another deep breath. "And I should have done it before we took our clothes off."

"You took your clothes off?" Hannah Abbott asks, interrupting them with both her question and a steaming mug of coffee. Harry can smell the firewhisky from where he is sitting.

Hannah sits down next to Malfoy and nudges him with her elbow.

"You and him, then?" she asks. She looks up briefly and catches Harry's eye, her lips pressed into a tight line, as if to say she's putting on a good show to try to make things a bit better for Malfoy. The blond gives a small nod. Hannah turns her head to look at Harry again, who feels himself blush crimson. "So what are you mooning over Wood for?"

"Hannah," Malfoy protests. "He was a big part of my life for almost a year, and now he's fucking dead."

"Sorry," she says. "I'm being terribly insensitive but I still haven't forgotten how he hurt you. And I haven't forgiven him for that." She reaches out an arm and wraps it around Malfoy's shoulder, squeezing him hard against her. Then she leans in and continues more quietly. "And in all fairness, you haven't seen Wood in _years_ and Potter's a pretty great catch." Malfoy turns his head and frowns at her.

"Hannah," he whispers. "Potter can hear you."

"I can hear you too, Malfoy" Harry points out.

"And it's more complicated than that," Malfoy continues in a normal tone, ignoring Harry. Hannah gives Malfoy's shoulder a squeeze before she takes her arm back and shrugs. "There are things I haven't told you."

There is a ding from the bar behind them as a patron presses the small bell next to the register.

"I'm sure you'll tell me about it in time," Hannah says. "But I need to get back to work. It's not that I don't care, Draco. Because I do care, terribly. It's just that my job is calling." She glances over at the bar, where sure enough, a small line has now begun to form. "Take good care of him," she says to Harry. He nods dumbly back. And then she is gone again.

Malfoy reaches over and takes his coffee mug. Lifting it to his mouth, he takes a large sip. He watches Harry over the lip of the mug, eyes narrowed, before putting it down on the table again.

"How did he die?" Malfoy asks. "And don't you dare tell me it's classified. I have a bunch of classified shit in my head right now. One more thing can hardly hurt." Harry looks down at his thumbs and twiddles them. He was hoping this conversation would come later, preferably when someone else was around to explain it in Harry's stead.

"It happened while stealing The Reliquary," he says after a long moment. "He broke into a secure Ministry facility and died shortly after sending it to you. I don't actually know all the details. I didn't necessarily _want_ to know." Harry breaks off, not wanting to continue. He is sure Malfoy knows why he doesn't want to know more. After all, he threw Oliver's towel at Harry last night. He knows Harry and Oliver were a couple, which, Harry realizes, might be more than anyone else knows. Malfoy's eyebrows shoot up and he lifts the coffee to his mouth again, hands shaking, to take another large gulp.

"No," he says once he's swallowed the mouthful. "No, that can't be right. Oliver wouldn't do something like that." Harry's lips are pursed again and he is frowning. Malfoy clearly understands from his expression that he's being serious because he slumps back down in his chair again. "Fuck," he says quietly. "Then why'd he send it to _me_?"

Harry's mouth twists in concern, but he stays quiet. He does not want to say anything more on this topic until they reach the Ministry, where someone else can handle all of the questions. He looks down at his watch as it vibrates softly against his wrist. He pulls out his wand and prods it gently. He has a message from Parkinson.

 _Where are you?_

He prods the watch again, changing it back to its normal clock face and he groans when he sees the time. They had been scheduled to meet Pansy ten minutes ago. He looks up at Malfoy and sees that the blond is watching him.

"We're late," Harry says, pointing at his watch. "We should go." He stands up. Malfoy gives a small, resigned sigh. While the blond still seems upset, he appears to be at least less angry with Harry. He pushes his chair back, stands, then picks up the coffee for one last sip. Harry watches in amazement as the blond downs the rest of the liquid in one go before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

"Fine," he says. "But this conversation is not over." He begins to stride purposefully towards the door of the Leaky Cauldon, forcing Harry to jog to catch up with him. When he does, Malfoy's face is set in the hard look that Harry remembers so well from Hogwarts. He reaches out and puts a hand on Malfoy's arm. Malfoy spins to face him.

"What?" he snaps.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks. Malfoy shrugs his hand away.

"I'm fine. Let's go." He turns back towards the door and in a moment is through it. Harry adjusts his jacket collar and then follows.

…

Pansy glares at her watch. She curses herself for letting the pair of them out of her sight again, but the idea of going home, showering and changing her clothes had been too nice to pass up. But now they are late. Not that there is a definitive time that Dempsey wants them to be there, but it's the principle of the thing. Pansy is never late to anything. In fact, she is usually scrupulously early.

She leans against the wall next to the Muggle telephone booth that is the visitor's entrance to the Ministry. As much as she would have preferred to use the employee entrance, or better yet, have just apparated in, Draco is a civilian and Potter wouldn't agree to bend the rules to take him in any other entrance than the public one.

She hears two soft pops, which are followed shortly by the sight of Potter walking around the nearest corner. A moment later, Draco follows. Even from this distance, Pansy can tell that Draco is upset. He is wearing his 'everything is fine, leave me the fuck alone' face, which generally means that things are not fine. She wonders what happened in the time that she left him alone with Potter.

"You're late," she says as they draw up next to her.

"I know," Potter says. "Unforeseen circumstances." They pile into the phone booth.

"Would these circumstances have anything to do with why Draco looks like he's either going to cry or hit something?"

"I do not look like that," Draco protests. He wriggles uncomfortably, wedged in between the two of them.

"Yes, you do," Pansy says. She reaches a hand out and picks up the telephone receiver. She punches in 62442 and waits until the floor beneath them begins to move before replacing the phone in its cradle. She turns to face Draco, freeing up a small amount of space between them. She pokes him in the rib.

"What's wrong?" she asks. Draco turns his head and scowls at her.

"Nothing," he says. She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Draco. I know I haven't seen you in a while, but if you'll recall, there was a time when I was the one person who knew you better than either Greg or Vince." She can tell by the way his scowl intensifies that she is right.

"He found out that Wood died," Potter says over Draco's shoulder. "And they had, ah, had a thing a few years ago."

"Ah." She'd seen the front page of the Prophet as she'd carried the paper into the kitchen while she had been briefly at home. She, too, had been startled by his serene face staring out at her. Because, even though Wood had been the one in the wrong - he _had_ been stealing Ministry property - she still felt guilty that he had died. If she had just been a second faster when attempting to disarm him… She pushes the thought away. Instead, she puts a hand on Draco's arm and asks,

"Are you okay?" She watches as he takes a deep breath and slips his 'everything is fine' face back on.

"I'm fine," he says in a small voice that transports her back to their fifth year, when they had still been best friends and Draco and Narcissa had come for dinner, shortly after Lucius had been locked up in Azkaban. And just like all those years ago, she wants to wrap her arms around him and hug the pain away. But just as back then, she does not. Because while that is what she would want, Draco is different. Instead, she squeezes his arm and sees the ghost of smile lift the corners of his lips.


	8. Draco Versus the New Job

Once they reach the Atrium of the Ministry, Pansy and Potter stare at each other. Neither of them are quite sure whose office to go to. Draco can tell from the way that they both sort of freeze once they reach the elevators. Potter even has his hand out to press the elevator call button, but is wavering between up and down. Draco decides to address the elephant in the room.

"So, whose boss do we take me to?" As soon as he asks, he knows his voice is too fake cheerful. He's trying too hard to seem alright with everything that's going on. Because he is sure as fuck _not_ alright with everything going on.

Oliver is dead. Draco's got government secrets in his head. And he went and fucked Harry fucking Potter last night. (And this morning, his mind reminds him). He's not a hundred percent sure he's not being taken to his death or imprisonment right now. He could go on, but he's sad and pissed off enough as is.

Neither Potter nor Pansy answer him. They are still staring at each other. Potter slowly brings his hand back to his side.

"I'm not sure," he says.

"Well, can you hurry up and decide?" Draco asks. He just wants to get this over with before he loses his nerve and attempts to run away. He is decently sure he could give Potter the slip and escape. Pansy, not so much. She knows him too well, damn her.

"Let's bring him to Croaker," Potter says, at the same time that Pansy says.

"Let's go see Dempsey." In his exasperation, and still in an attempt to seem alright with things, Draco slaps a hand to his forehead.

"Let's go with Potter's suggestion," he says. Pansy purses her lips but nods. Potter presses the down call button on the elevator.

Croaker's office, it turns out, is in the absolute bowels of the Ministry. Draco is convinced that his ears pop they descend so many floors. He didn't even know the Ministry _had_ that many floors below ground. He tries not to think about this as they wend their way through multiple corridors. He feels quite well and truly trapped. Now, even if he wanted to run away, he couldn't. He wonders if he should have chosen to be taken to this Dempsey person instead. But it's too late for second guessing, because as soon as he thinks he would rather going somewhere else, they're there and knocking on Croaker's door.

Saul Croaker is an older wizard, with thinning salt and pepper hair. His face sags somewhat at the jowls and his dark eyes are sunken. He is an odd combination of thin in the limbs with a large, rounded belly. Draco is not sure what to make of him until he starts talking. And then he thinks that he's going to do whatever the man jolly well tells him to do because that voice all but demands it.

"Sit," Croaker says as they enter the room. He gestures at the two chairs in front of his desk and they scramble for a minute to bring another chair for Pansy from the side of the room. Once they are seated, Croaker leans forward in his chair and surveys them above steepled fingers.

"Uh," Potter starts to say, but Pansy interrupts him.

"Hello Director Croaker," she says. "I would like to introduce you to Draco Malfoy. He's the man to whom Oliver Wood sent the Reliquary." Croaker's gaze flicks from Draco to Pansy while she is speaking, and then back to Draco.

"I understand you've read the book." It is not a question. Draco nods, feeling stupid. Again. With a sigh, Croaker leans back in his chair. "That is quite unfortunate," he says. He pulls out his wand and Draco shrinks back in his chair. But Croaker just prods the watch on his wrist and then speaks into it.

"Amelia, he's here. You should come and join us." He holds it up to his ear and Draco thinks he can hear a small voice emanating from the watch. Whatever the voice says, it irritates Croaker because his face darkens. He lifts the watch to his mouth again.

"No, we're not coming to you. They're all here. Yes, Parkinson too." The voice in the watch says one more thing before Croaker prods the device with a disgusted sigh. No one says anything for a long, tense minute. Then Potter says,

"Well, if you don't need me, I might just head on home." He begins to stand, but a quick glare from Croaker sends him back to his seat.

"Who the fuck said we didn't need you, Potter?" Croaker asks, eyes narrowed.

"No one. I just assumed-" Potter starts to say.

"-Well, don't. You'll stay right there." Potter nods and nervously crosses his legs. Draco is secretly pleased that Potter won't be leaving him alone just yet.

As the minutes tick by, Draco becomes more and more nervous. Who is this Amelia person that they're waiting on? He gnaws distractedly on a hangnail on his thumb before he realizes what he is doing and drops his hand back into his lap.

Finally, after what feels like an age, but is really only five minutes, they hear footsteps in the hallway. Draco turns around expectantly and watches as a woman in a Hit Wizard uniform marches towards them. She has so many stars above her crossed wand seal, that even Draco knows she is important. A small name tag identifies her as the Dempsey that Pansy had mentioned.

Pansy stands and salutes as the woman enters the room. The woman acknowledges her and motions for her to sit. Then she addresses Croaker.

"Saul," she says. Croaker nods at her.

"Hello, Amelia." He looks around the room for another chair. When he doesn't find one, he conjures one for her and places it on his side of the desk. Draco notices that it is nicer than the chairs that the rest of them are sitting on.

"Thank you," Amelia says. She walks over to the chair and perches on the end of it, her back ramrod straight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Pansy shift in her seat until she is mirroring the other woman.

"General Dempsey," Pansy says. "This is Draco Malfoy."

"Ah yes," the General says. She smiles at Draco, although the smile does not quite reach her eyes. "Pansy has told me all about you and the Reliquary." She purses her lips briefly. "It's a pity that it's gone, but that can't be helped now, can it?" She gives a small sigh. Despite the fact that she is being nicer to Draco than Croaker is, he doesn't feel any more comfortable. In fact, he's almost more intimidated by Dempsey, because he can't get a good read on her emotions.

"Um, sorry about that," Draco says. "I didn't know what I was reading."

"And once you started, you couldn't stop?" Draco nods and Dempsey sighs again. "That was quite the design flaw."

"But now that all of our secrets are in your head," Croaker breaks in. "You work for us."

"There's no way you can get them back out of his head?" Pansy asks. Croaker gives her a withering glance.

"It wouldn't be very secure if you could just get the secrets out of someone's head once you'd captured them, would it?"

"Speaking of kidnapping," Potter says.

"Yes," General Dempsey says. "We know that someone tried to kidnap you again, Potter."

"Kidnap me?" Potter is surprised by this. "I thought they wanted Malfoy."

"No," Croaker says in a bored tone. "Just another one of your loony fans."

"It's lucky Major Parkinson was there to help," Dempsey adds.

"I would have been fine on my own," Potter mutters so quietly that Draco thinks he might be the only one who can hear him.

"But what about the heat tracker on his house?" Draco asks. Beside him, Pansy gives a snort of laughter.

"What heat tracker?" Croaker asks, leaning forward with sudden interest.

"It's nothing," Pansy says.

"But you said," Draco starts to say but Pansy kicks him. He turns his head to glare at her and stops when he sees the look in her eyes. "Nevermind." He will ask her about that later.

"So," Croaker continues, sounding irritated. "As I was saying, you work for us now."

…

"He's going to need a handler." Harry hears Parkinson say.

"Whose department does he fall under?" Harry finds himself asking. Both Dempsey and Croaker answer at the same time.

"Mine." He watches as they turn to face each other, each of them staring daggers at the other one. This is the office politics that Harry so desperately wanted to avoid. He looks down at his hands in his lap, willing them not to draw him into their dispute.

"I'm taking this to Tusneem," Croaker says.

"No, you're not," Dempsey responds. "I am." Harry looks up to see both of the Heads of Department spring out of their chairs and sprint out of the room.

"Don't you three dare leave," Croaker calls behind him. And then the door to his office slams shut and locks itself. Harry feels for a fleeting moment like he is back at Hogwarts and he, Ron and Hermione are in trouble in Dumbledore's office. But instead it's Parkinson and Malfoy and none of them is in trouble per se. Except perhaps Malfoy.

They all stare at the door for a long moment.

"Well," Malfoy says, breaking the silence. "I didn't think this would be important enough to go to the Minister." At which point, both Harry and Parkinson turn to stare at him in mild disbelief. "What? I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

"Oh, it's a big fucking deal," Parkinson says. "It's _all the secrets_ , you idiot. How could it _not_ be a big deal?" Malfoy shrugs.

"I just thought the 'who will my boss be' thing might have been addressed _before_ I got here."

"Oh, you dear innocent boy," Parkinson says, reaching out to pat Malfoy condescendingly on the head. "The Unspeakables and the Hit Wizards historically don't get along, despite being in the same department. Dempsey has been gunning for me to bring you in since that damn book went missing so that we could claim you as ours, and I'm sure Saul Croaker has been hoping the same of Potter."

"Then why didn't you bring him in?" Harry asks. He is very curious as to why she hasn't - cries as to why she wanted them to bring Malfoy in together.

"Don't get me wrong, I wanted the credit for bringing him in, but I didn't want to be stuck with him." Parkinson turns to Malfoy. "No offense, but sometimes you can be a right pain in the arse."

"I don't follow," Malfoy says.

"Bringing you in at the same time as Potter means that someone else will decide who your handler will be, rather than it defaulting to me. If I do end up as your handler, that's fine, but there was no way I was going to volunteer to babysit you."

"So you're hoping _I_ get stuck with him," Harry says. "Lovely."

"Stuck with me?" Malfoy cries. "I didn't realize I was such a damn burden." The blond looks genuinely hurt and Harry realizes he and Parkinson are being incredibly insensitive. The conversations about who will be assigned a particular asset, and all the bitching that goes along with them, are usually conducted away from said asset.

"Have you met you?" Parkinson asks. Harry frowns at her as Malfoy's eyebrows shoot up.

"You're not a burden," Harry says quickly, reaching out and placing his hands on Malfoy's arm in what he hopes is a comforting manner. "We don't mean it that way. It's just that being a handler takes up all of an agent's time and it's often hard to wrap one's head around the fact that you will be spending that much time with one person. It's like being assigned a new partner, and a new case at the same time."

Malfoy continues to scowl and Harry isn't sure there is much he can do to change that. He tries to put himself in Malfoy's place and imagine what he is feeling. He imagines just picking up a book one day and that being the reason he works for the Ministry. But as Harry loves his job at the Ministry, he doesn't quite see how this is a bad thing.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy lets the subject drop. Instead he turns to Parkinson and asks,

"Now what was it you were saying about that heat tracking spell?" Parkinson presses her lips together, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

"I may have fabricated that," she says. She stops trying to hold her smile back and an impish grin fills her face. "You should have seen your faces when you learned you had to share a room." Harry frowns. In all the excitement of the morning, he had forgotten to check about the spell, but it seems there wasn't one all along. He is not sure how he feels about this. On the one hand, he is irritated with Parkinson for putting him into that situation, but on the other hand, they'd had a great night, which wouldn't have happened if they hadn't been forced to share a room.

"How Slytherin of you," Malfoy says. Parkinson's grin turns into a smirk. She shrugs.

"You'll get over it. You had voluntarily been on a date with him just an hour earlier," she says. "And I'm sure it's not the first time Potter's had to share a bed with someone he didn't like. I mean, he's an Unspeakable after all. It's often his job to seduce people or pose as their romantic partner."

"Because the Hit Wizards never do that," Harry shoots back sarcastically. Even after all these years, Parkinson has the uncanny ability to get under his skin in ways that very few people can. (If he's being honest, Malfoy is included in that list of people). And it doesn't help that Harry still doesn't trust her. He has not forgotten that she was the one who suggested to Snape that they give him up to Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Our missions tend to be a lot shorter than yours," she counters. "Less of a need to establish long term cover."

"But why, Pansy?" Malfoy asks, ignoring their back and forth. "Why lie about that?" She shrugs.

"It was funny." Malfoy sighs, shaking his head.

"You're still the same bitch you were in school, aren't you?"

"We were all like that, Draco," Parkinson snaps back. "You were often the worst."

At this, Malfoy looks slightly mollified, though Harry gets the feeling that this won't be the last of it. He just hopes he is far away from the pair of them when it flares up again.

Before either of them can say anything more, however, the door to the office opens and Minister for Magic Alfred Tusneem strides into the room. His black robes billow behind him, showing off their teal lining. Harry sees Malfoy sit up straighter in his chair. Hermione enters the room behind Tusneem. She has a striking lime green skirt suit on under her black robes and she looks more put together than the rest of them combined. Harry waves at her, but Hermione ignores him. Both she and Tusneem walk behind Croaker's desk. Tusneem does not sit, but rather stands and leans forward on the desk, supporting himself on outstretched arms. He nods in Malfoy's direction.

"You," he says. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Malfoy twitch.

"Who? Me, sir?" Malfoy asks. His voice pitched a squick higher from nerves.

"Yes, you Mr. Malfoy. Tell me about Operation Forrest Shark." Harry turns and watches Malfoy with open curiosity. He had seen Malfoy recall something the night before, but now he watches as Malfoy's eyes flick back and forth, as though reading some invisible text, before he blinks, shakes his head slightly and recounts a mission that Harry had been on years earlier that involved a Muggle smuggling ring, some contraband magical materials and a cursed saber.

Tusneem watches Malfoy impassively. When he finishes speaking, the Minister nods once and then stands fully upright, crossing his arms in front of him. He reaches up with one hand and thoughtfully rubs his chin. Then he tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. Finally, he speaks.

"And you both brought him in?" He looks from Parkinson to Harry. They both nod.

"And you have agreed to work for us?" Hermione asks Malfoy. Malfoy's eyebrows rise in surprise.

"I didn't know I had a choice," he says.

"Of course you have a choice. You can either work for us, or we'll send you to Azkaban," Tusneem says.

"So, it's not as though I _actually_ have a choice then." Tusneem shrugs expansively. "Yes, fine. I will work for the Ministry, even though, had circumstances been different, I'm sure there would have been no way in hell that you would have hired me." Tusneem shrugs again.

"Water under the bridge. Welcome to the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy." Malfoy purses his lips but nods.

"However, the way I see it," Tusneem continues. "Your work will need to stay a secret. You are far too valuable of an asset for the general public, and more specifically, the general criminal public, to know who you are." Malfoy nods slowly. He had to have been expecting that. Harry wonders how he would feel if he knew he couldn't go back to his old life, to his friends, to his job.

But then, the nature of Harry's position is different to those of a normal Unspeakable. His cover involves hiding in plain sight, being the Boy-Who-Lived, celebrity eternal. He is invited to any event that he wants to go to, and no one expects him to do anything untoward, so he is never suspected.

"Therefore, you will join the Unspeakables." Malfoy nods again, this time with a bit more vigor. Behind Tusneem, Harry can see triumph in Croaker's eyes. Beside him, Dempsey stares straight ahead, her face expressionless. "However, as Project Reliquary is an interdepartmental project, you will also work with the DMLEHS." Croaker stiffens in surprise and Harry sees the corner of Dempsey's mouth twitch upward slightly. "I will be setting up a special task force and I will give it a suitably top secret name." Harry knows that this means it will have a suitably ridiculous top secret name. "As you seem comfortable with both Potter and Parkinson, I am assigning them both as your handlers and the three of you will report to Granger." Harry's heart sinks. That complicates things.

"Hermione,," Tusneem says, turning to face her. "I will leave the rest of the details to you for now. I expect a full report before the end of the day."

"Of course, Minister," Hermione says. Croaker and Dempsey merely nod.

"Don't fuck this up, Granger," Tusneem says as he walks out of the room. "Project Reliquary was your idea after all." And then he is gone.

…

"Right then," Granger says, sitting down behind Croaker's desk. "Time is of the essence. We need to get you a cover story. I think you can keep your day job, as that's inconspicuous enough, but we will need a cover story for your handlers." She turns to Pansy and Potter. "Any ideas there?" Potter looks like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, Pansy pipes up,

"When I found them last night, Draco and Potter were on a date. Could that be their cover?" Draco turns to look at Pansy. She stares innocently back at him, but there is a sparkle in her eye that tells him that she's doing this to make him uncomfortable again. The way that she did with that heat tracking nonsense.

"Possibly. Malfoy, did you tell anyone else about this date?" Granger asks. Draco thinks about lying in order to force them to come up with another cover, but then he nods.

"My roommate, Greg, and my best friend, Hannah, who is bound to have told her boyfriend, And, knowing Ernie, he has told anybody who will listen," he says because it is true.

"And we ran into Hannah this morning on the way here," Potter points out. Helpfully.

It's not that Draco doesn't _want_ to spend more time with Potter, it's just that he has tasted the forbidden fruit now, and it's going to be damn difficult to keep his hands off of him. Because what Potter had said last night was true. If they're working together, nothing _can_ happen between them. Draco is going to be miserably horny all the time and unable to do a damn thing about it.

"Perfect," Granger says. She notes this down on a piece of parchment. "And Parkinson." She looks up at her. "How do you feel about working in a bookstore? The manager, Dick Burns." She pauses and looks at the name again. Draco snorts with involuntary laughter. "Does he really go by Dick?"

"No," Draco says, shaking his head. "It's just what we call him." He claps a hand over his mouth, almost unable to keep from laughing. He glances over at Pansy and Potter who are also trying hard to suppress their laughter. Even Dempsey has cracked a smile. Granger clears her throat.

"The manager, _Richard_ Burns, has a reputation for hiring Slytherins."

"Well, he hired me and Greg," Draco says. "But none of the others even went to Hogwarts." Granger waves his comment away.

"The point is, we will ensure that he hires you, Parkinson, and it won't seem out of character for him," she says. Pansy nods. "Now, every morning, Malfoy, you will read the Daily Prophet from cover to cover and you will let either Potter or Parkinson know if anything jumps out at you." Draco nods. He reads the paper most mornings, so this will not seem out of the ordinary for him. "Occasionally we may give you something specific that you need to look at." Draco feels like he is one of those perpetual motion birds, he is nodding so much. As Granger continues to brief him, he continues to nod. His eyes glaze over and he feels almost as though he is back at Hogwarts, listening to Professor Binns lecture him on the history of magic.

"So," Granger says, as she begins to wrap up. "To summarize: Potter and Parkinson will be your handlers. Until you are better trained, they will protect you. And for the most part, when you get information from The Reliquary, you will convey it to them and they will act on it. Your cover is that you and Harry are now dating, which I am sure the Daily Prophet will have a field day with, and that Pansy is your coworker and friend. Are there any questions?" Draco, for what seems like the first time, shakes his head.

"Very good." Granger begins to shuffle papers together and Draco figures that is their cue to go. He stands up. Pansy and Potter follow his lead.

"Before you go," Dempsey cuts in. "You will need to stop by my office to get your security credentials." She addresses Pansy. "Banks can help you with that." Pansy nods and leads them out of the office. Once they are out of earshot, she says,

"Welcome to the team, Draco." She pats him briefly on the back.

"Uh, thanks," he says. "I guess." He is still processing everything that has happened in the last hour, let alone the last day. The main thing that sticks out in his mind is that Potter is now his fake boyfriend. He dares a glance over at the brunet, but Potter is staring straight ahead down the corridor and ignoring him. Draco supposes there _are_ worse fake boyfriends, but quite frankly Draco would prefer a _real_ boyfriend. Which, it seems, he won't be able to have now, or else people will ask questions. He sighs. Potter looks over at him.

"Everything okay?" he asks. Draco nods. He is, after all, well acquainted with his hand.

They reach the elevator bank and Pansy pushes the button for up and then immediately starts to tap her foot impatiently.

"Was there any particular reason," Draco says after watching her for a moment, getting more irritated with every tap of her toes. "That you volunteered the information that Potter and I had been on a date last night?" Pansy stops tapping and frowns at him.

"I thought it would be a good cover story," she says. "You _were_ on a date last night. It would be an easy cover to sell - I just figured it made the most sense. After all, no one was going to believe you were dating me."

"I felt like we sold it pretty well at Hogwarts," Draco protests, even though he knows they didn't.

"You were together at Hogwarts?" Potter asks. "I had no idea."

"We weren't," Pansy clarifies. "We sometimes let people think we were because it was easier for both of us."

"Oh, are you-" Potter start to ask.

"-Not attracted to any of the Slytherin boys?" Pansy interrupts. "Did you see them? The only vaguely attractive one was Malfoy, and it became clear to me in our fourth year that the feeling wasn't mutual." The elevator door opens with a ping and they crowd inside. Pansy presses the correct floor button and then leans against the wall, facing them both. "Eh, Zabini was decently attractive," she says, relenting somewhat. "But the pickings were slim to none. And none of the boys in the other houses would deign to date a Slytherin." She crosses her arms in front of her and glares at a spot on the wall behind Potter. Draco reaches out and rests a hand on her arm.

"We still managed to have fun,"he says. She shrugs.

"Kind of."

"Ok, aside from unrequited crushes on Michael Corner."

"For both of us," Pansy adds.

"So we had a bit of a vendetta against Ginny Weasley."

"And his lasted longer than mine, because Corner and Weasley broke up, but then she went out with you," Pansy says, smirking. "Whatever happened to the two of you anyway?" Potter has been watching their back and forth with interest, but now that he has been brought into the conversation, he looks uncomfortable and Draco notices his cheeks coloring.

"We broke up," he says in a clipped tone, which makes it clear to Draco that he doesn't want to talk about it. Pansy is sure to have heard it too, but will have fewer qualms about continuing blithely on.

Further conversation, however, is halted by the elevator doors opening. Pansy ushers them out and over to the correct office. Draco is photographed, fingerprinted and has his magical signature documented by an enthusiastic young man that Pansy introduces as Mortimer Banks. Once all of Draco's details are recorded in a logbook, Banks reaches towards a lower drawer, only to stop suddenly.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you already have a watch," he says, sitting up straight again. He sweeps his shiny, auburn fringe out of his eyes and adjusts his glasses, which Draco thinks are just for show. "May I see it?" He reaches a hand out and slowly Draco extends his wrist forward. Banks grips it lightly and prods Oliver's watch with his wand. He points his wand at a piece of paper and frowns at the readout. He looks up at Draco, confusion in his eyes, and then reads the paper again, as if it might have changed in the time he had glanced away.

"Uh," Draco starts to say.

"You appear to already have a Ministry altered watch," Banks says. "May I enquire as to how you got it?"

"Uh," Draco says again. "It was given to me." He figures that is as close to the truth as he can be without telling the whole saga. He's not sure how much Banks knows about The Reliquary. Banks frowns at the readout for another few seconds, then shrugs and prods the watch again.

"Very well, I will just change the ownership signatures then," he says. He waves his wand over the watch face in a complicated pattern and then taps it once. "There. That should do it." He releases Draco's wrist and grins up at him. "You're all set. Welcome to the Ministry of Magic."


	9. Draco Versus The Bet

"I don't know about you two," Pansy says as they make their way over to the elevators again. "But I am starving."

"You should have let us have a proper breakfast then," Potter says. She rolls her eyes at him and ignores the comment.

"Draco, any ideas about what to do for lunch?" She looks over at him, but he is staring perplexedly at his watch. He keeps prodding it with his fingers and then watching to see if anything happens, which as he's not using his wand, nothing does.

"What?" he asks, looking up at her.

"Lunch, darling. Where would you like to go?"

"Preferably somewhere where we can talk without fear of people overhearing," Potter adds.

"Yes, preferably somewhere muggle."

"Why are you asking me?" Draco snaps. "You two are probably both more acquainted with the kind of restaurant you're looking for than I would be. I barely ever make it out of Diagon Alley."

"You'd been to Chelsea," Potter points out and Draco turns on him, angrily.

"Yes, and you managed to somehow pick the only restaurant in Muggle London that I had been to. Well done, Potter." Potter throws his arms up in surrender.

"Sorry, would you like me to suggest a place?"

"Please," Pansy says. She lifts her hand up and examines her nails ignoring the pair of them. She is not overly thrilled about being assigned as one of Draco's handlers, but then at the same time, the Reliquary project is one of the Ministry's more important projects, so she is honored to have been chosen to be on the team. She wonders how Potter feels about it. He had not seemed thrilled when Granger had announced that he would be Draco's handler. She figures he still harbors ill will for him after Hogwarts, though they had seemed chummy enough last night. But then, Potter is trained to portray his emotions in a certain way.

And yet, when she had knocked on Potter's door this morning, she could have sworn that Draco had been naked in the bed behind him. But that can't have been right, could it? She had only seen a flash of Draco before Potter had obstructed her view, so perhaps she was leaping to conclusions. And if there was one thing that had been drilled into her since day one of Hit Wizard training, it was not to jump to conclusions.

Plus, Potter wouldn't be that unprofessional. Not if he knew Draco was the new Reliquary and that they might be working together. Pansy pushes the very idea of impropriety from her mind.

"How do people feel about Pizza Express?" Potter asks, cutting into her thoughts. She looks up from her nails, which are painted to perfection in scarlet, with nary a hangnail to be seen. She shrugs.

"Sure," she says. She glances at Draco who looks less than thrilled but who nods anyway.

"Right then," Potter says. "Shall we Floo to my house then? We can go to the Pizza Express on my corner."

"Is that wise?" Pansy asks. "After all, you were almost kidnapped at the other restaurant near your house." Potter scowls.

"Actually, I don't want pizza," Draco says. Potter throws up his arms in exasperation again.

"Fine," he says. "Someone else decide."

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic, Potter," Pansy says. "Draco, what _do_ you want?" Draco frowns at his watch for another moment before he finally drops his arm. She stares at him, letting the silence drag on.

"Sushi?" he hazards. Pansy raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Not sushi?"

"Sushi is fine with me," she says. "I was just surprised you wanted it."

"What kind of uncultured cretin do you think I am?"

"I don't know. You do live with Greg," she says. Draco scowls at her and Pansy realizes with a shock that she's going to have to see Greg again on this assignment. She hasn't seen him since Seventh Year, although she had barely seen him then. He and Vince had been the Carrows' favorites and they were often missing from the common room until the early hours of the morning.

Unbidden, a memory washes over her. Not long before the Battle of Hogwarts, she had been up late in the common room studying for a Charms exam the following day, when Greg and Vince had come in, chuckling and nudging each other. At first she had thought nothing of it, but it quickly became clear that they hadn't noticed her. Vince had lifted up his sleeve and pointed at something on his arm. Pansy had been unable to see what as Greg had been standing in her line of sight.

"Can you believe it?" he'd asked Greg.

"Only because it still stings so much," Greg had responded. Then he had moved and Pansy had caught a flash of a dark ink on Vince's pale arm. Her breath had caught in her throat and she had settled deeper in her chair, hiding herself from view with her Charms book. Greg had then punched Vince playfully on the arm and they had made their way up to bed, still chuckling. Pansy hadn't spoken to either of them again.

And now she would be working next to Greg at Flourish and Blotts. She wonders if he's still the same as he had been in school. Draco has changed a bit, but under his somewhat more mature exterior, she can still see flashes of the prickly teenager he had been.

"Yo! Sushi, then?" Potter asks. Pansy blinks at him, unsure for a moment what he is talking about. Then she nods.

"Sounds good," she says. "Where's that?"

"Fulham Broadway."

"Great, let's go." She starts to walk towards the exit, but Potter stops her.

"We should still Floo to my house," he says. She frowns at him. "What? We then have to catch a bus, so we'll be inconspicuous." She makes a face. She hates Muggle buses. They always seem so slow, as constricted by traffic as they are. She sighs.

"Fine." She takes a quick glance at Draco, but he seems unconcerned about the whole Muggle public transit thing. That is unexpected. Perhaps he had changed more than she had thought.

…

Draco stares at the plates as they float by him. He is fascinated by the restaurant that Potter has taken them to, where they do not order, but instead they pick up food from tiny floating platforms that circle the kitchen area of the restaurant. He has yet to pick anything up - he has been too busy watching each thing go by. He can't tell what most of them are, but he decides that is a fun challenge. Or, it will be once he actually takes some food.

He notices Potter staring at him and he rounds on the brunet.

"What?"

"Nothing," Potter says quickly. "But, you do know that you can just take a plate off there and just eat it, right?"

"I'm not stupid."

"I wasn't suggesting you were." Potter turns away and concentrates instead on trying to pick up the nigiri in front of him with his chopsticks. He is struggling in a way that Draco almost finds endearing, but also that he somewhat judges him for.

Draco sighs and picks up the next salmon roll that floats by. He snaps open his chopsticks and expertly picks up a piece and transfers it to his mouth. He sees both Pansy and Potter staring at him out of the corner of his eye and ignores them. Did they think he had never been to Japan? Or never used chopsticks before? Potter clearly had not been concentrating the night before. But then, Draco realizes, he isn't sure if Potter had used chopsticks or a fork at dinner, so he clearly had been focused on other things too.

"Yum," he says once he has finished his bite. "Good choice me." He pops another piece in his mouth, then turns to stare back at the pair of them. Pansy rolls her eyes and mouths _show off_ at him.

He winks at her. And then realizes that by winking at her, he was somewhat winking at Potter and that was not what he had meant to do. After all, he's not allowed to flirt anymore. They're coworkers now. Potter is in charge of his protection. That, and he's still pissed off about him not telling him about Oliver.

about Oliver hurts. Perhaps Hannah was right. Perhaps he should think about the fact that he is now fake-dating Harry Fucking Potter, who is arguably a better catch than Oliver Wood. But who is not _actually_ his boyfriend, despite their nighttime activities of the night before.

He turns his attention back to the passing food, desperate to think about neither Wood nor Potter. He realizes he is bloody starving and wants to eat everything. He wonders if the Ministry is paying for lunch and voices this question aloud.

"Oh," Pansy says, chopsticks paused halfway to her plate. "I hadn't thought. What do you reckon, Potter?" Potter shrugs. His mouth is full.

"And on that note," Draco adds. "How will this whole thing work? Does the Ministry pay for our cover dates?"

"I'm not really sure there will be cover dates," Pansy says at the same time as Potter says,

"Yes, they will." Pansy puts her hands up in surrender.

"It's your department," she mutters.

"Yes," Potter agrees in a rather clipped tone. "It is. No offense, Parkinson, but I think it might be best if I laid out the ground rules and brought Malfoy up to speed on how our cover will work." Pansy stares at Potter coolly for a moment before she shrugs and turns back to her food.

"Right then," Potter says, turning back to Draco. "As I was saying, the Ministry will cover the bill for any of our dates. I imagine most of our dates will really be cover for missions or training sessions, but you never know. Parkinson can keep an eye on you during the day while you're at Flourish and Blotts, and then I can meet you and walk you home." Draco tries to protest that he was capable of walking himself home, but Potter ignores him and continues,

"If Hermione needs you to identify something during work hours, one of us will discreetly take you aside, likely to the break room, or some other such private place.

"I imagine there will be many times that Parkinson and I will then need to follow up on whatever you've been able to tell us, and for those times, you'll be on your own."

Draco grabs another plate as it floats by. He doesn't even look at what it is, just begins to stuff food into his face while Potter drones on. He goes through several plates of sushi before he interrupts.

"Quick question," he says. Potter stops talking, mid sentence. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he closes it. "Where will you be sleeping?" Potter blinks owlishly at him. Behind him, Draco can see Pansy smirk into her soup. "I only ask because, uh, I didn't come home last night. So Greg is going to have ideas about how fast our relationship is moving." He does not add that Greg would be right.

Pansy is now shaking slightly with suppressed laughter and Draco knows that it is because she thinks she orchestrated this turn of events. In a way, she did. Potter chews his lip for a moment.

"I hadn't thought about that," he says finally. "I guess we'll have to play that one by ear." Draco nods. He's not sure what made him ask the question in the first place.

After all, having Potter around will make keeping their relationship professional even more difficult. As it is, Draco is oh so aware of how close they are sitting. They are so close that he can feel the warmth coming off of Potter's body. If he were to shift his knee slightly to the right, he could "accidentally" hit Potter's. And Merlin does he now want to, if just to see what reaction he could get. Because Potter has been talking so clinically about their cover relationship that Draco almost can't believe he is the same man he shared a shower with just a few hours ago.

"I suppose I should take you home to meet Greg," Draco says. "Or, rather, to reintroduce you to Greg."

"Yes," Pansy says enthusiastically. "You can tell him just how great your date went." This time, both Draco and Potter glare at her while she smiles innocently back at them. Draco can tell that she is enjoying this. He wonders if she suspects that he doesn't mind as much as she seems to think he does. He wouldn't put it past her. He had often been surprised that Pansy hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.

"And what will you do during that time?" Potter asks. She shrugs.

"Go home? I reckon you can handle him until work tomorrow."

"I don't work Mondays," Draco says. Pansy practically cackles with glee.

"In which case, Potter, I think you can handle our precious Draco until Tuesday while I get caught up on paperwork and sleep."

"That hardly seems fair," Potter mumbles.

"Yes, well, sometimes life isn't fair," Pansy says.

"And don't I fucking know it."

"Oh, get over yourself."

"I beg your pardon, Parkinson?"

"Are you deaf? I said get over yourself. You're not the only one who's had a hard life."

Potter looks like he is going to either yell at Pansy or hit her, but instead he takes a deep breath, clenches and un-clenches his hands and then takes a big sip of his water. When he speaks, it is with barely controlled anger.

"I know you're the reason Oliver is dead." His voice is soft and his eyes are hard as he stares at her. Pansy sighs and shakes her head, suddenly serious. Draco feels like someone has poured cold water over his insides. He stops eating and stares at Pansy, not wanting to believe what Potter just said.

"No, Potter," she says. "Oliver is the reason that Oliver is dead. He did that to himself." She turns and stares straight ahead, her mouth set in a firm line. Draco drops his chopsticks and they clatter onto his plate, but no one notices.

"You were fucking there," Potter spits. "You were the last person to see him." At this point, his voice catches and he balls his fists in his lap. Pansy's head snaps around again.

"It was my job, Potter," she says coldly. "He _broke into a Ministry facility to steal Ministry property._ What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Just let him go? He stole the fucking Reliquary and when I cornered him, he clearly felt he would rather die than tell us why. And I was too slow to stop him, even though I bloody well tried." Draco's head is pounding and he has to tell himself to take slow breaths.

"Perhaps you should have tried harder."

"Oh, you think I don't fucking know that? Where the hell do you get off telling me I should have been able to stop him when perhaps you should have stopped him before-"

"-Don't you dare suggest that I knew anything about this." Potter is clenching his fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. Draco continues to watch their argument, getting very distinct flashbacks of watching his parents fight and neither of them noticing his distress.

"Oh, of course not," Pansy says. "Why would Saint Potter _ever_ be mixed up in something untoward?"

"I swear to you, I knew nothing about this. I was as blind sided as the rest of us were."

"Sure you were."

"I said, I fucking knew nothing," Potter growls. Draco can feel the tension literally building in the air, and it is only when the corner of Potter's napkin starts smoldering, that he realizes it's not tension, but rather Potter's magical energy. Draco shivers. He had been unaware that Potter was quite so powerful. Pansy clearly notices, because Draco watches as her face cycles through several emotions: surprise, alarm, irritation and then resignation.

"Whatever," she says, throwing up her hands. "Croaker believes you and I suppose that's good enough for me. But you need to understand that it is _not_ my fault he died I tried to stop him. But I couldn't…" she trails off, her lip suddenly trembling. She pulls herself together after a moment and her face turns hard again. "Look, I understand how you're feeling. I've lost partners too. It's shit. And I'm sorry for being insensitive."

Potter unclenches his fists, notices his napkin for the first time and pats out the embers. He looks side to side to check if anyone noticed, and both Pansy and Draco pretend not to have seen anything.

Draco is still shaking. With this new information, he has even more questions about Oliver and he can't decide if he wants to know or he would rather bury his head in the sand. He takes another couple of calming breaths and then picks up his chopsticks again. As he does, he feels Potter's knee press against his and although he doesn't know if it is deliberate or not, it still has the effect of calming him.

"I accept your apology, Parkinson," Potter says after a long pause. "And I'm sorry for flying off the handle. I've lost so many people in my life you would think I would be used to it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," Draco surprises himself by saying. Potter turns to look at him. "No one should ever be 'used to losing people'." Potter shrugs and Draco shakes his head at him. "No."

"Either way, Parkinson, I'm sorry." He holds out a hand, which Pansy takes and they shake.

"Apology accepted," she says. "But you still have to deal with Draco for two days. I really do have a shit ton of paperwork to do. Which, may I point out, is also not fair. Or fun. At least Draco talks."

"This is true," Draco says. "It's one of my many skills."

…

The rest of the meal is spent in relative calm. Harry is still embarrassed that he let his anger get out of control the way that it did, so he has tried to quell his emotions as best he can anytime Parkinson speaks. He knows he is being unfair to her about Oliver, but it fucking hurts any time that he thinks about it, and at that moment, all he wanted to do was lash out at someone. But that still doesn't make it fair. And so now he also feels like a bit of a dick.

And on top of that, he'd been an insensitive jerk when he had blindsided Malfoy with the information that Parkinson was there when Oliver had died. He had been so wrapped up in his own emotions, he hadn't noticed how upset the other man was until he'd set a fucking napkin aflame.

Parkinson had left before the bill even arrived, saying that she trusted Harry to pay and fill out the reimbursement paperwork without her. He can't blame her for wanting to scarper as soon as she had the opportunity. Of course, this just makes him feel like even more of a dick, but he understands.

Which means he is stuck with Malfoy, who he can't get a read on. If anything, Harry imagines he is overwhelmed. He knows he would be, were he in Malfoy's shoes.

He feels like he should start some sort of conversation, but his mind is coming up empty. So he sits and twiddles his thumb until the bill arrives. He fumbles in his pocket for his wallet, and his elbow brushes Malfoy's arm. In spite of himself, a thrill goes through Harry's stomach. Fuck, but that's not helping anything. Nothing can happen, aside from what they have to pretend to the rest of the world.

He pulls out a credit card and places it on top of the bill without even glancing at it. Their waiter takes it away and Harry resumes fiddling his thumbs.

"You're not going to talk to me?" Malfoy asks. Harry looks up in surprise.

"Well, you weren't saying anything," Harry protests.

"Neither were you."

"Then it seems we are at an impasse." Malfoy narrows his eyes. He reaches over and picks up his water.

"So what's the plan then?" he asks once he has taken a sip.

"Plan?"

"Yes, for the rest of the day."

"There isn't one."

"What? No training? Or going over more details of our fake relationship?"

"What else is there to go over?" Harry asks, confused. "I asked you out, you said yes. We went on a great date last night and we hit it off."

"I mean, like what are we allowed to do? To convince people that it's real? Can I kiss you? How handsy are you? If we're in the same room, in a casual situation, where do we sit in relation to each other?"

"Can I keep my hand in your back pocket?" Harry asks, interrupting Malfoy's string of questions.

"There's no need to be snippy. These are legitimate questions. And perhaps it's not something you've discussed before, but I'm new to this and I need to know where I stand. Or, even, where I fake stand."

"Do whatever feels natural," Harry says. Their waiter comes back with the receipt and he spends a few moments figuring out the tip. He is a bit surprised at the total, but then he looks over at the stack of plates that Malfoy has made his way through and it makes sense. As he is signing the check, he feels a hand on his leg. The pen veers off the paper and onto the table as he starts in surprise.

"You said to do what felt natural," Malfoy all but purrs into his ear.

"I did, didn't I?" Harry says. "But I would also argue, there's no need for the charade right now."

"No?" Malfoy asks, pouting but still not removing his hand. "But what if there are other wizards about? Or, better yet, the Prophet?" Harry groans. "What? If your cover is that you're Harry Potter, and my cover is that I'm your boyfriend, the Prophet is bloody going to have to find out at some point." At this, Malfoy sits back and removes his hand. "Which," he says more quietly. "Means my parents will find out." And then even more quietly. "Fuck."

"They won't approve of me?"

"They, ah, don't actually know I'm gay."

"Oh."

"Yes." Malfoy is silent for a long moment and stares at the wall behind Harry's shoulders. Then he snaps to attention. "Well, no time like the present, I suppose. How do you feel about Wiltshire?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How do you feel about going to Wiltshire? I know you probably don't have the most pleasant memories of my house, but then again, neither do I."

"You're suggesting we go to your house? Right now?" Harry asks. Of all the things he had expected Malfoy to say, this had not even factored in. Malfoy's mouth twists from side to side while he appears to think it over.

"Yes," he says eventually. "I mean, if that's alright with you. It's just if my parents find out that I prefer men from the newspaper, it is quite possible they will never speak to me again. Of course, that's a possibility either way, but this fucking book is really forcing my hand now. And maybe this way, my mother will finally stop trying to set me up with various female family friends over holidays."

Harry can't help but snort in amusement at the idea of Malfoy being subjected to his mother's matchmaking. Mrs. Weasley has tried it with him too many times to count now. It is kind of her to try, even after he and Ginny had broken up.

"Alright," Harry says, even though he's not sure it's the best idea. "Let's go to bloody Wiltshire."

…

Draco stares up at the Malfoy Manor gates. They are tall and imposing, made of wrought iron, with twin Ms at the top, painted in gold. He knows these gates well - how could he not? But standing outside of them with Potter makes them feel oddly imposing. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and takes a step forward. He reaches out and pushes the closest gate. It opens at his touch, and he ushers Potter inside before following.

When he lets go of the gate, it clangs shut behind them. Draco tries to pretend the sound isn't menacing. Without thinking, he reaches out and takes Potter's hand. Potter, to his credit, does not immediately snatch his hand away, but instead looks curiously at Draco.

"I need moral support," Draco says by way of explanation. "And you're all I've got." Potter shrugs but does not take his hand away. They start to walk down the driveway. The pale, white gravel crunches under their feet. Draco rarely comes this way, as he usually takes the Floo straight to the house, but this is the only way when bringing a guest. Although, this is the first guest Draco has brought home in a while. (The last had been Hannah, whom his mother had adored and then been disappointed to learn was just a friend.)

Draco's heart is hammering in his chest and he is worried he will falter on the walk to the house. But somehow, he manages it. And then he stares up at the Manor itself. All grey stone and gothic architecture. The doors open, seemingly of their own accord, but as he and Potter cross the threshold, a house elf peeks out from behind the oak.

"Master Draco," it squeaks. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Where are they?" he asks, looking around as if his parents are hidden behind one of the tapestries in the entrance hall.

"The South Drawing Room, sir." Draco nods and goes left down the corridor. He doesn't say anything to Potter. He doesn't have to. The brunet is still holding his hand. Draco lets it drop.

Narcissa and Lucius are engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess when they enter the drawing room. Draco is surprised. He has not seen them do much aside from drink and sleep since the War. But then, he hasn't been home in a while.

"Mother," he says. "Father." They look up, startled, but Narcissa recovers quickly and gets gracefully to her feet. She glides across the floor and embraces him.

"Hello darling," she says into his hair. He returns the hug quickly before letting go. Lucius stays where he is, but nods in Draco's direction. And then they notice Potter. Draco can actually tell the moment that Lucius realizes there is another person there, as he stiffens slightly in surprise. Narcissa's smile, which was already on her face, takes on more of a fixed look.

"Mr. Potter," she says. She walks over to him and extends her hand. "How nice to see you." Potter returns the handshake warmly, clasping his mother's hand in both of his. Narcissa turns back to Draco.

"Draco, darling," she says. "To what do we owe this pleasure?" She walks over to the fireplace and picks up a small bell. She rings it once to summon a house elf, who appears moments later with a loud _crack_. "Tea, please," she says. "For four."

"Oh, mother, we can't stay," Draco starts to say.

"I'm afraid I will not take no for an answer." She crosses the room again. This time she sits down in what Draco knows is her favorite chair. Lucius sighs and stands, moving over to sit opposite his wife.

"Come sit down, son," he says. "You know how your mother is." Draco looks helplessly over at Harry, but the other man is already making his away over to the sofa. Draco sighs, beaten, and sits down next to Potter. There is a an uncomfortable silence as they all stare at each other, and then Narcissa asks again,

"Do what do we owe this visit?"

"Right," Draco says. "That." He feels his hands start to sweat and he wipes them nervously on his trousers. He wants to reach out to Potter again, but he can't. His heart is racing and his tongue is dry in his mouth. He wishes now that he had waited until dinner time, or at least perhaps cocktail hour. This would be so much easier with alcohol in his system. And in theirs. He takes a deep breath and then blurts out,

"I'm gay."

"Sorry?" Lucius asks.

"I'm gay," he says again. "I like men. Er- in that way." He should have started with some sort of preamble. But he's said it now and he can't go back and start this conversation over, as much as he would like to. Narcissa stands, walks back to the fireplace and rings the bell again.

 _Crack_.

"Cancel the tea. We would like some gin," she says. "Please bring the cocktail set."

 _Crack._ The house elf disappears. Narcissa returns to her seat. It is going about as well as he had expected. And at least no one has thrown anything. Yet.

"I'm sorry," Draco says.

"For what?" his mother asks.

"For springing this on you like this. I meant to kind of lead up to it, but I was just so nervous that-"

"-Yes, darling. That is what the gin is for."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, look at you. You're on tenterhooks over there." She stands again and makes her way over to him. He sits, frozen, unsure of what is going on and jumps when she starts to smooth down his hair.

There is another loud _crack_ , and a house elf appears with an ice bucket, four tumblers, four bottles of tonic water, a plate of lime slices and a large bottle of gin. Narcissa leaves Draco and deftly makes him a gin and tonic with practiced hands. She hands it to him and he takes it, still dumbstruck. He takes a tentative sip. Merlin, his mother has a heavy hand when it comes to drinks.

He watches in silence, sipping his gin with a hint of tonic water, while his mother makes three more and passes them out. Potter doesn't protest, but nods politely and takes one. Narcissa sits down again and stares intently at Draco.

"Now, where were we?" she asks. She smooths her skirt over her knees.

"Draco is gay," Lucius says.

"Right, yes. Go on, dear," Narcissa says.

"What do you mean 'go on'?" Draco asks.

"I figured you had more to say."

"I thought you might have more of a reaction," Draco says. He's not sure if he actually would have preferred more of a reaction. Every time he had gone over this conversation in his head, his parents had been upset. There had been tears and yelling. This calm nonchalance is unnerving.

"Oh, please," his mother says. "I've known you since you were born. You think I didn't see this coming?"

"But you always try to set me up with Greg's sister!" Draco protests. At this, Narcissa laughs.

"I do, don't I?" She lifts her glass to her lips and takes a rather large drink from it. "Well, you know. I have appearances that I have to keep up. I had to make it look like I was trying to marry you off." Draco stares at her uncomprehendingly. "And I was waiting for you to come out to _us_ before I tried to set you up with any eligible bachelors."

"I don't need setting up, _Mother_. I have a boyfriend."

"Which," Potter interjects. "Is where I come in." Lucius turns to him and raises an eyebrow. Anyone observing this, could tell that this was where Draco had learned how to do it.

"You?" Lucius asks. _Ah,_ Draco thinks. _Here's where the throwing things begins._

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," Potter says. "I am dating your son." Lucius's lips press together in a thin line.

"And we figured it was best to come and tell you in person," Draco says. "Before, you know, it was in the Prophet or something."

"That's very considerate of you," Narcissa says. She turns to Lucius. "Well dear, you owe me fifty galleons." Lucius grumbles. Draco splutters. Potter snorts with laughter.

"What?" Draco cries once he can form words again.

"I don't think this bet should still count," Lucius says. "We made it _years_ ago."

"Years ago?" Draco looks helplessly over at Potter who is biting his lip to stop himself from laughing.

"How long ago was it, Cissa?" Lucius asks. Narcissa twists her mouth as she thinks.

"Fifteen years? Maybe seventeen? Do you remember that day I took you to get your robes fitted in Madame Malkins? And you met Potter for the first time. You wouldn't shut up about him all summer. It was all 'Do you think Harry will be my friend? I know we got off on the wrong foot, but maybe he'll come around. Oh, mum, what if he gets sorted into Slytherin!'"

"I nearly was," Potter says. Draco spits out the mouthful of gin he had just taken to help cope with the fact that his mother was embarrassing him.

"You were? What do you mean almost?" Potter shrugs.

"This probably isn't the right time to have this conversation," he says. "Suffice to say, I wasn't." Draco frowns and files it away for another time. He turns back to his mother.

"So you and Dad have had a bet that I would go out with Harry Potter since I was eleven?" Narcissa gives him an embarrassed smile.

"Yes," she says.

"But what if he'd been straight?"

"That's part of the reason the odds were fifty to one on it ever happening," Lucius says.

"Only fifty to one?"

"Draco, darling," Narcissa says. "You should have heard yourself. Every summer you would come home and talk about all the things Potter had done. You were a tad obsessed."

"Yes, because I hated him." Draco is on the edge of his seat now. He puts his drink down in irritation.

"Did you though?" Potter asks, a small smile playing across his face.

"Quiet you," Draco snaps. He crosses his arms and glares around at them all. Lucius lounges in his chair, lazily sipping at his drink. Narcissa blinks serenely back at him. Potter takes him by surprise, by reaching out a hand and tugging one of his arms away.

"Don't look so grumpy," he says. Draco continues to scowl at him, but allows Potter to uncross his arms and take his hand. Narcissa puts a hand across her chest.

"You two are precious," she says. She smiles at them, a warm, motherly smile and Draco feels his irritation melting away, replaced instead with a more mild irritation that he hadn't come out to his parents earlier. It would have saved him so much heartache.


	10. Draco Versus The Photoshoot

Whatever Harry had expected from the Malfoys, it had not been this. It really would not have been that the senior Malfoys had had a seventeen year bet on whether or not he would ever get together with their son. But he had dealt with plenty of unexpected things in his time, so he had taken it in his stride.

Taking things in stride was a skill he had honed as an Unspeakable and one that he wished he'd had a better grasp on earlier in his life. He supposed some of it came with age though. And at least this had been a pleasant surprise. He'd had far too many that had been terrible. Not least of all the unpleasant surprise from earlier in the week.

Every time he thinks about Oliver, his chest aches. He knows there is nothing for it but time, and possibly distraction, but Merlin does it hurt. But for now, he does not have time to feel sorry for himself.

He takes another sip of the gin and tonic that Narcissa had given him, glad for something to do with his hands. Or, rather, his hand, as his other one is holding Malfoy's. And, in all honesty, holding Malfoy's hand makes him feel a bit better for reasons he will not let himself think about right now.

The conversation has moved on to more mundane topics, such as work, and Harry has let his mind wander, but now he realizes that they are all staring at him, so he snaps his attention back to the room.

"What was that?" he asks, smiling politely at Lucius.

"And what do you do?" Narcissa asks him.

"Oh, me? Uh, I'm essentially a professional celebrity," he says. This is his cover. "I trained as an Auror for a time after the War, but I guess you could say I retired."

"So you're unemployed," Lucius says flatly.

"I wouldn't say that."

"You do not have a current job. Therefore you are unemployed."

"I suppose if you put it that way," Harry says slowly.

"Well, don't expect Draco to support you," Lucius says, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You know he works at a bookstore, correct?" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Draco slap his free hand to his forehead.

"I can support myself, Mr. Malfoy," Harry says evenly. "I still have rather steady book sales that provide my income. Not to mention several licensing-"

"-Yes, no need to rub it in, Potter," Draco snaps. "Some of us still have to make an honest living." Harry starts to protest, but gives up after a moment. Draco knows he has a job after all.

He glances down at his watch and wonders if enough time has passed that they can politely leave. He feels as though they have been here for six hours, but it has barely been two. Still, it's getting towards evening. He looks up and clears his throat.

"We should probably be getting back to London," he says. "We have dinner reservations for six thirty." Beside him, Draco leans forward and puts his now empty glass down before standing up. The rest of them follow his lead and there is a flurry of embraces as Draco bids farewell to his family. Harry is about to walk out of the room, when Narcissa walks up to him and sweeps him into her arms.

"Take care of him," she whispers in his ear. "And so help me, Merlin, if you hurt him, I don't care who you are, I will end you." Harry gulps and nods. Of course, he has no intention of hurting her son. It's not even a real relationship. And even if it were, Harry prides himself on still being on good terms with all of his exes. Just ask Ginny Weasley.

They leave the elder Malfoys in the sitting room and make their way downstairs. Before Harry can walk outside, Draco grabs his arm and steers him into a side room.

"Wha-?" Harry starts to say, but then Draco gestures at the fireplace.

"Might as well Floo home," he says. Harry would almost prefer to apparate, but he nods and follows Draco to the grate. "This fireplace has a special link to mine, so it doesn't matter that I haven't added you to the family floo wards yet, and then we can go ahead and do that once we're there."

"That seems rather," Harry starts to say.

"Unsafe?" Draco shrugs. "Possibly, but it's only this fireplace and it was getting hard to remember which of the house elves were and were not already allowed to bring us food from my parents."

"Your parents send you food?"

"Sometimes," Draco says. He notices Harry's stare and glares at him. "What, like your parents never-" and then he stops himself. His gaze drops to the floor. "Sorry."

"It's ok. I've had twenty seven years to come to terms with it," Harry says. He chews his lip for a moment and then adds, "And Mrs. Weasley sends me food almost once a week." The last part is an exaggeration. Though Molly does often surprise him with baked goods, her visits have grown much less frequent as of late.

Malfoy nods and takes a step towards the grate. He reaches up on top of the hearth and grabs a handful of Floo powder.

"Shall we?" he asks. Harry nods and Draco drops the powder. "34 Sorella Gardens," he cries, loud enough that Harry can hear him, even though Harry already knows the address. As the green flames rise up to engulf Malfoy, Harry makes a split second decision and dives into the fireplace with the blond, clutching at his waist and tugging him close. He feels Draco grab him back as they hurtle through the network, fireplaces and sitting rooms flashing past them, until the spinning stops and they stumble out into Draco's living room.

Harry glances quickly around the room as they fall forward and spots and astonished Gregory Goyle sitting on the sofa. Pretending he has not seen him, he steadies the two of them and then on the pretense of reaching up to brush some dust out of Malfoy's hair, he pulls the blond's face close and presses their mouths together. If Malfoy is surprised, he doesn't show it, instead eagerly kissing Harry in return.

There comes a small cough from behind them. Harry pulls himself away and pretends to notice Goyle for the first time.

"Oh shit," he says. "Hi." He spins Malfoy around until they are both facing his roommate. Malfoy waves sheepishly.

"I take it from this display that your date went well then," Goyle says.

"You could say that," Malfoy says. "Yes." He takes Harry's hand and leads him further into the room. "Greg, I'm sure you remember Potter."

"How could I not?" Harry flashes him an awkward grin and then holds out his hand.

"Nice to see you again, Goyle," he says. Goyle considers him for a moment before taking his hand.

"Please," he says. "Call me Greg. The Goyle name has been rather dragged through the mud."

"Right, yes, of course," Harry says. He drops Malfoy's hand, walks over to the sofa and sits down. Malfoy watches him for a moment before sitting down next to him. None of them say anything for a long moment. Eventually, Greg gestures at the two of them.

"So, are you two a pair now?" he asks.

"Yes," Malfoy says.

"Then it's only a matter of time before we have Daily Prophet gossip witches parked outside our house?" Malfoy looks at Harry.

"Possibly," Harry says. Greg sighs. He looks down at himself for a moment, then flexes his bicep.

"Gonna have to work on these guns then," he says. Then he looks up at them and grins. "You know, if I might make it into the paper."

"Is that your way of giving us your blessing?" Malfoy asks.

"Mine is not the blessing you need, Draco."

"Oh, we've already seen his parents."

"Shit, it's that serious already?" Malfoy shrugs. "After a day? Damn, Potter, your cock must be made of gold or something because he never takes anyone to meet Lucius. Not even the last guy he was in a serious relationship with." Harry blinks at Greg. He had not been nearly this gregarious in school. In fact, the main noises he had heard the taciturn boy make at Hogwarts were guffaws in response to whatever Malfoy had just said.

"Greg," Malfoy says, leaning forward in his seat. "What the fuck? Be cool."

"Sorry," Greg says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Hannah invited me over for brunch, and I may be several mimosas to the wind."

"Well, still, be cool. You're probably going to see a lot of Potter from now on."

"And speaking of that," Harry says. "You should probably call me Harry."

"But that sounds wrong," Malfoy says without pause and Harry realizes that it does. And that he has been referring to Malfoy in his head as Malfoy the entire time. Fuck. Should he change that? He tests out the name Draco in his head. It doesn't sound as strange as he had expected.

"I'm not one to judge," Greg says. "But I would think that if you spent all night fucking, you should probably be on first name terms."

"Who said we-?" Mal-Draco splutters.

"Your face," Greg interrupts. "Just now." He grins cheekily and Draco scowls at him.

Harry stares in wonder at Greg again. He is so changed from the boy he knew at Hogwarts that it is almost like he is a completely different person. He wonders what brought about the change. But then, Harry had never known him in school - not really. For all he knew, Greg had been just as affable when in the Slytherin Common room. Either way, he likes this Greg.

"Um, guilty as charged," Harry says, putting on a mock ashamed face.

"Ha," Greg cries, slapping his hand on his thigh in amusement. "I knew it."

…

Draco can't quite believe the conversation he is in. Nothing about the past few days seems real. Most of it has been shrouded in a veil of tiredness after his late night Reliquary reading and, ahem, after last night's activities led to him not getting much sleep for a second night. But Circe last night had been worth it.

He is sure he will not feel this way in a few days, once he's had to pretend that he and Potter are an item without any of the benefits associated with seeing someone regularly. But for now he is more than glad he took advantage of being able to sleep with Potter while he had the chance.

"So," Potter himself says, breaking into Draco's train of thought. "What do you want to do for dinner?"

"I take it you're staying then?"

"Of course," Potter says. "All night." At this, he winks and Draco feels the color rise in his face.

"Well, thank Merlin Draco's room is at the top of the house," Greg says. Draco forces out a laugh. It sounds awkward, even to his ears. Shit. He's going to have to get better at this fake relationship business. And, he grouses to himself, he should probably call the black haired git by his first name. Like a normal person and not like school rivals. He should also potentially stop referring to him as a black haired git. Maybe.

As he tunes back into the conversation again, he hears Potter say, "We could get take away?"

"Oh screw it," Draco says. "Let's just go to the pub."

…

The Leaky Cauldron is not overly full when they arrive. Most of the bar stools are empty and there are plenty of open tables. Draco spots Hannah behind the bar and makes a beeline for a barstool. He does not look back to see if Potter and Greg follow him, but they do.

Potter slides into the seat next to him and moves it ever so slightly closer, so that their knees are practically touching under the bar and when he leans forward, their elbows battle for space on the bar top. Draco's breath catches for a moment in his throat, but he pushes the feeling aside. He can be professional. He just needs to remember that he's still slightly pissed off at him for not telling him about Oliver.

The feeling of being punched in the stomach comes back briefly as he thinks about that and it is enough to make him set aside how attracted he is to Potter.

He catches Hannah's eye and waves at her. She finishes counting out another patron's change and walks over to them. In true Hannah fashion, there is a bounce in her step, despite it being a Sunday evening when Draco knows she would rather be curled up on the couch with Ernie, watching something on their jury-rigged Muggle television.

"How can I help you fine gentlemen?" she asks, grinning.

"Newcastle," Potter-whose-real-name-is-Harry-goddamnit says. Hannah's eyebrows lift briefly in surprise at the choice of a Muggle beer but she nods and picks up a glass.

"Draco? Greg? What'll it be?"

"Dragon's Tooth," Greg says. Draco frowns.

"Wine?" he hazards. "No, screw it, give me what Potter's having. I mean Harry. His name is Harry."

"This is true," Hannah agrees. "His name is indeed Harry. Did you just realize this?"

"They're dating," Greg says. "So I pointed out they should be on first name terms."

"Oh!" Hannah exclaims, looking back and forth between Harry and Draco. Harry takes the opportunity to lean into Draco and smile, while Draco turns and glares at Greg. He imagines they look like some kind of Muggle sitcom. Hannah laughs and then turns to pull their beers.

"Thanks for just telling everyone, Greg," Draco mutters. Greg shrugs.

"It's not everyone," he says. "It's Hannah! She's practically family! It's not like you were going to keep it a secret."

"Plus," Hannah says as she plonks Harry and Draco's beers in front of them. "It's not exactly a surprise after this morning."

"Right," Draco says. "I think I still owe you for the firewhisky coffee." Hannah waves dismissively at him.

"On the house," she says. "This beer, however." She finishes pulling one beer and plonks it down in front of Draco. "You can pay me for."

…

They stay at the Leaky Cauldron until they are the last people there. Which is a common occurrence for Draco and a first for Harry. Draco knows this because Harry keeps trying to apologize to Hannah for making her stay so late.

"But Har'," Ernie says, leaning across the table that they are now sitting at to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "She has nothing to go home for? I'm here." Harry frowns at him.

"When did you get here?" he asks. Ernie shrugs.

"Twenty minutes ago? But you've been busy talking with Greg, so I'm not surprised you didn't notice me."

"That," Greg says. "And he's had about six drinks."

"Shush," Harry intones at Greg. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, I can hold my liquor."

"How does not dying when you were one make you good at drinking?" Draco asks. Harry waves a hand at him.

"Magic," he says. Draco shakes his head.

"We're all able to do magic, you pompous ass," Draco says. Harry narrows his eyes and glares at him.

"Special magic," he says.

"I call bullshit," Greg says. "You, sir, are intoxicated."

"Yeah, well, so are you," Harry protests.

"Never said I wasn't."

…

Greg, Harry and Draco stumble home half an hour later, all three of them leaning on each other in support. It is a good thing that it is late on a Sunday and there are few people around Diagon Alley as they end up meandering their way from one side of the street to the other on their circuitous route home.

Upon reaching the house, they tumble across the threshold, and Harry straightens up for a moment and leans against the wall.

"Checking our wards, Potter?" Draco asks him.

"Well, yes," Harry says.

"Ooh, do you need extra protection because you're a celebrity?" Greg asks. He is sitting on the bottom stair now, looking up at them.

"Something like that," Harry mutters. He stays against the wall for a good thirty seconds before stepping away again. Greg watches him with interest, but Harry ignores this. He nods at Draco.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the stairs. Draco nudges Greg with his feet and the other man pulls himself into a standing position, grunting and groaning as he returns to vertical.

"Nightcap?" Greg asks. He does not wait for an answer but instead trudges up the stairs. Harry and Draco traipse behind him. Once they reach the living room, Harry sprawls across the closest sofa and closes his eyes. Greg catches Draco's eye and the blond shrugs.

"It was a late night," he says.

"Should we just go to bed then?"

"Probably." Draco starts towards the stairs.

"Are you just going to leave him there?" Greg asks, gesturing at the prostrate Harry. Draco sighs dramatically.

"I suppose not." He pulls out his wand. "Levicorpus." Harry's eyes snap open as his body leaves the couch. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his own wand.

"Finite incantatum," he cries and flops back onto the sofa. He scrambles upright and glares at Draco. "I can walk, you know." Draco shrugs.

"Uh, I will leave you two to it," Greg says and start towards the stairs again. "Goodnight." Harry raises a hand and then continues to glare at Draco once Greg has gone. Draco ignores him and starts up the next set of stairs, leaving Harry to follow.

…

"What the fuck was that?" Harry asks once they reach the landing of Draco's tower.

"I thought it was funny," Draco says. He stares down at his shoes, not daring to meet Harry's eye. Part of him had thought it was funny, part of him had wanted to just piss Potter off. He is on edge from keeping up the charade of their relationship, and it's only been a day.

At the same time, he still feels hollow every time he glances down at Oliver's watch. He really ought to have asked for a new one. And so he is annoyed at himself for not doing that. And he is still angry with Potter for not telling him about Oliver the night before, even if a small part of him understands that there was never quite a good time to do it.

In short, Draco is a giant ball emotions and there is only one person around right now to take them out on. Only he's not sure if he wants to hit Harry or kiss him, which is fast becoming a common dilemma.

He settles instead on continuing to stare at the floor.

"Well, it wasn't funny," Harry snaps. Draco hasn't seen Harry this pissed off since Hogwarts, and part of him wants to keep pushing Harry's buttons to see what happens.

"It was a little funny," he says, looking up and smirking at at the brunet. Harry continues to glare, but as Draco watches, the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. "See," he says. "Even you think it was funny." Harry rolls his eyes.

"Perhaps," he relents. "But I'd prefer you not do it again."

"Fair," Draco says. He turns away and walks into the bathroom in order to brush his teeth. Harry follows him. As he picks up his toothbrush, he watches as Harry stands for a moment, staring at the second, empty sink before he seems to come to himself.

"I need to get my things," he says quietly.

"Do you need the coordinates again?" Draco asks, toothbrush halfway to his mouth. Harry shakes his head. He points to his watch.

"I stored them here," he says and disappears out of the bathroom.

A moment later, Draco hears the loud crack that indicates Potter has left and he lets out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He puts the toothbrush in his mouth and starts to brush his teeth.

He feels like the last two days have lasted a week and so he is unsurprised to see dark circles under his eyes when he glances up at his reflection in the mirror. He frowns around his toothbrush. While Potter is gone, he is going to have to apply all his various potions and tinctures to make his face look more like the face he is used to seeing every morning. Not that there is anything to combat lack of sleep - only sleep will do that.

He groans and spits his toothpaste out. He's going to have to share his bed with Harry. And it's going to be awkward. Oh, they'll pretend that everything is fine, but Draco knows that he will be painfully aware of every movement either of them makes. He wishes now that he had agreed to the nightcap, even though he knows he's had more than enough alcohol for the day.

He rinses out his mouth and washes off his toothbrush before opening the cabinet behind the mirror and grabbing the first of his face creams. He uncaps it and is just starting to apply it, when he hears Harry arrive back on the landing.

"Fuck," he mutters. Now Potter will know how much effort he puts into his appearance, and it feels too early in their (fake) relationship for him to know that. He is about to replace the potion when Harry walks back into the bathroom.

"Ah, Vossman's Nightly Complexion Cream," he says. "If I had known you had some, I wouldn't have brought mine." And Draco realizes, that for all his seeming nonchalance about his appearance, Harry is just as vain as he is.

…

"Right," Harry says once he and Draco are back in Draco's bedroom. "Which side of the bed do you want?" And then he feels stupid, because it is quite clear which side of the bed Draco usually sleeps on as the pillows are crumpled and the covers are pulled back. Clearly, despite his parents' reliance on house elves, Draco does not have one.

"This side," Draco says, pointing to the slept in side and walking around to it. Harry nods and pulls the covers back on the other side and clambers in. He is wearing his full set of pajamas, even though he usually only wears the bottoms, in an effort to be more properly attired for bed. Draco is still in his clothes and is twisting his hands together awkwardly.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Uh, I normally sleep in my underwear. I don't actually have pajamas."

"Ok," Harry says with a shrug. "Then sleep in your underwear. I don't mind." Even though Harry knows it will make him even more on edge than he already is. His job as Draco's handler is to make Draco comfortable, not himself. He notices that Draco is still wringing his hands together. "Do you need me to look away?"

"Yes please." Harry obliges and turns on his side, away from the blond. Though part of him thinks it is silly - they have slept together after all - he knows that these feelings are not often rational. He feels the covers move and the mattress shift as Draco climbs into bed.

"Erm, good night then," Draco says. The lights dim and a moment later, Harry hears the soft clatter of a wand being placed on a surface.

"G'night," he says quietly and closes his eyes.

…

Despite the fact that Draco is aching with tiredness, he feels wide awake. He can feel Harry's warmth on the other side of the bed and thus is frozen in place, unable to bring himself to move, even though his leg is at an uncomfortable angle. It is so quiet he imagines that even his breathing must sound loud and so he tries to breathe more slowly.

He wonders if Harry feels the same way. But then reasons that of course he doesn't. He's been trained for situations like this. Then he wonders if he will be trained for situations like this. He jolly well hopes so, or he fears he will never sleep comfortably again.

He nearly jumps when Harry shifts and turns over onto his back. Draco takes this as a sign he should perhaps move, so he gently shifts himself until he is in a more comfortable position. He hears Harry sigh and risks a glance over at him, but the other man's eyes are closed. Draco makes a conscious effort to relax the muscles in his shoulders, which are tight from the stress of just lying in his bed.

Finally Draco decides that he is being ridiculous. It's just Potter after all. And he so he turns onto his side, pulling the blankets closer around himself.

In moments, he is asleep.

…

The next day dawns bright and early, but Draco does not wake with the sun the way that he normally does. Instead, he slumbers past his usual waking time and does not stir until Harry prods him awake at ten.

He scowls up at the admittedly attractive annoyance.

"What?" he snaps.

"As much I would love to let you sleep the day away, it's ten and we have things to do."

"Things?"

"Hermione's booked us for an exclusive interview with Witch Weekly at eleven. You know, to announce that we're dating. I imagine they will want to take lots of pictures." This gets Draco's attention. He sits up and it is only as he does so that he realizes Harry has brought him breakfast in bed. A tray hovers behind the brunet and Draco can smell both coffee and bacon. His stomach rumbles.

"Is that for me?" He points at the tray.

"I figured it was the fastest way to get you out of bed."

"Harsh," Draco says. "But fair." Harry shrugs.

"It was Greg's suggestion."

"In all fairness, the idea of being in Witch Weekly would have been enough."

"So I can eat your bacon then?"

"No!"

"Fine," Potter grumbles. "I will not eat your bacon if you manage to shower and get back here within fifteen minutes."

"That's not fair."

"Time is ticking."

"You're the worst," Draco says. He starts to push the covers back before he realizes he is wearing only boxers.

"I get results."

"Sure you do," Draco agrees. "Now look away again, please." Potter obliges and Draco scrambles out of bed and runs into the bathroom. Once the door is shut, he pauses for a moment, taking stock of how strange his life is going to be with Potter in it all the the time.

Does this mean he will be sleeping over most nights? Is it the end of Draco's privacy? He is already aware of the fact that it is the end of his dating life, but he's not sure how well he can handle Potter in his life twenty four seven. The last time they were in such close proximity, they were at Hogwarts and Potter had given him the lovely web of scars on his chest.

He looks down at the pale raised lines of skin and touches one of them gently. He shivers. Things are clearly different now. Potter is fake dating him, and, he thinks, if they are going to lose control of their emotions now, it is more likely going to end up with torn clothes, rather than torn skin.

He shakes his head and walks over to his shower. He doesn't have time to dwell on this. There's bacon waiting for him.

…

"I'm here to interview for the open sales position," Pansy says, tugging her shirt straighter and plastering on what she knows is a winning smile. Richard Burns stares back at her in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry?" he hazards.

"The open sales position," Pansy said again. She keeps the smile on her face and hopes that it doesn't look manic.

"I don't remember any," Richard mumbles to himself.

"This one," Pansy says, thrusting the job posting parchment into his hands. It is clear to her that someone in her department has fucked up and not informed Richard of his new opening. She is going to find out who that was and have some rather angry words with them. And perhaps add a laxative potion to their coffee.

Richard squints down at the parchment. It has his signature on it. He scratches his head and Pansy tries to reach out with the softest Legillimancy she can manage to hear his thoughts. She draws back as he adjusts his glasses and looks up at her.

"I must have forgotten," he says. "I'm terribly sorry about that Miss Parkinson." He beckons her towards his office. "Come in, come in." She follows him inside.

And of course, she nails the interview.

…

"Mr. Potter," a tall witch with flaming orange hair greets Harry warmly, sweeping him into an embrace as soon as they enter the Witch Weekly offices. She lets go of his shoulders and turns to Draco.

"And you must be Mr. Malfoy." He nods, unsure of what to say. "My name is Gillian." She pronounces it with a hard G.

"Nice to meet you," Draco says. He holds out a hand, but she wraps both of her arms around him instead, hugging him the way she had hugged Harry.

"You sure know how to pick them, Potter," she says as she releases Draco. "He's gorgeous." Draco can't help the smile that creeps across his face. She bustles them further into the office, chattering to Harry about the last time he graced the Witch Weekly cover, while Draco walks along in silence, taking it all in.

The office looked small on the outside, but in true wizard fashion is much larger on the inside. What had appeared to be one room of a dingy office building in Pimlico, is instead a cavernous room with three meter ceilings and lots of natural light that filters down from a large curved dome. There are many doors off of the main room, and Gillian ushers them through one of them.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing at the two make up chairs in the middle of the room. Draco does not need telling twice. Harry rolls his eyes at Gillian but makes his way over to the available chair. "I'll be back when you're both even more beautiful," she says. "And then the real fun begins!"

She shuts the door behind her with a click. Draco starts to reach for the nearest hairbrush, but Harry shakes his head. Draco frowns in confusion for a moment before the curtains at the end of the room twitch and two women come out from behind them.

They look like sisters and Draco can't help but stare. They are slender and pale, both with long cascades of jet black hair. Their dark eyes are both rimmed with red and when the shorter one smiles and begins to glide over to Harry, Draco notices her fangs.

"Harry," the shorter vampire says as she reaches his chair. "So good to see you again."

"Genevieve," he says, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. "Lovely to see you too."

"And who do we have here?" the other vampire asks as she reaches Draco. She places a hand on his shoulder. It is cold.

"This is my boyfriend, Celia. So hands off. His name is Draco." Draco turns in time to see her smirk at Harry, her fangs catching the light from the lighted mirrors. He turns back to the mirror and notices with a start that neither Celia nor Genevieve show up in them.

"Right then," Genevieve says, turning to the make up table. "Let's make you presentable." The pair of them get to work, their hands a near blur of activity, and Draco watches in fascination as his face is powdered and lined and blurred and what have you in the mirror, seemingly of its own accord.

By the end, he is not sure quite how they have done it, but they have made him look better without making him look all that much different at all. And when he turns to look at Harry, he has to suppress a small intake of breath. Harry's eyes seem to sparkle more emerald than usual and he looks well rested and flawless. No wonder all the witches who read Witch Weekly fawn over him. And he is all Draco's. At least for pretend.

Next, they are ushered into the wardrobe room, where a fabulously dressed, bland faced wizard named Evander has them change into so many outfits, that Draco begins to lose count. Once dressed to his satisfaction - Draco in a grey silk shirt and Harry in a forest green turtleneck, both paired with black trousers - Evander sends them out to Gillian.

She brings them to the center of the room, where a large screen has been set up. She waves her wand at it, and immediately it is filled with tall, dark tree trunks. She waves her wand again, conjuring more tree trunks out of thin air to stand in front of the screen before she transfigures the carpet into the forest floor.

She stares at it for a long moment and then pushes Harry into the frame. She has him lean slightly against one of the conjured tree trunks and then puts Draco behind him.

"May I?" she asks, reaching out to move Draco's arms. He nods. She places his arms around Harry's waist and has him put his head on Harry's shoulder.

"Hi," Draco whispers as she walks over to her camera.

"Hello yourself." Draco shifts slightly behind Harry, letting his arms encircle the brunet more naturally.

"Good, now stay there," Gillian calls from behind the camera. There is a flash as the camera goes off and immediately Draco freezes up as the reality of the situation hits him. Everyone is going to see his face and know who he is. All Draco can see now is the camera.

"Relax," Harry mutters, but somehow that makes it worse. Draco's shoulders are tensed up by his ears now and he can't remember how they got there. His grip on Harry is tight and Harry wiggles in his arms. Gillian starts to move towards them, but Harry turns in Draco's arms, ignoring her. He reaches up and puts a hand on Draco's cheek.

"Look at me," he instructs. Draco flicks his eyes away from the camera. "Are you OK?" Draco nods. "Because we don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do."

"Not if you're uncomfortable."

"I'm fine."

"I'm right here for you."

"Thanks." Draco gives him a small smile and the camera flashes again.

"That's wonderful." Gillian's voice sounds far away as Draco decides to lose himself in Harry's eyes. He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, not breaking eye contact and he feels Harry shift in his arms again. Another flash. Gillian calls out instructions and Draco relaxes into the rhythm of the shoot.

Evander has them change outfits after ten minutes. Harry now wears a black tuxedo, and Draco a white, and Gillian transforms the photo area into a large ballroom.

"Is there any reason we don't just go to places with these backgrounds?" Draco asks. They are wizards after all, and could apparate anywhere they wanted to.

"I can control the light and weather this way," she explains.

"True, you never can tell when it's going to rain," Draco says. He regrets this comment toward the end of the shoot as Gillian, seemingly inspired by what he had said, decides that it would be interesting to have a picture of them in a downpour. For this, Draco wears a tan trench coat, while Harry wears just a plain white button-down shirt, which quickly turns translucent in the conjured rain. Perhaps, Draco thinks, the woman knows what she is talking about.

"OK, now I want you two to face each other." They oblige, turning away from the camera to stare at each other. Draco tries to keep his eyes fixed on Harry's face, but they keep flicking down to his wet torso.

"Draco, my eyes are up here," Harry whispers.

"Closer together," Gillian instructs. They move towards each other until they are face to face. Before he can stop himself, Draco reaches out an pulls Harry flush against him. He tells himself it's for the pictures, but he knows it's more than that. There is a flash as the camera goes off. Draco ignores it.

Harry looks so much like he did in the shower yesterday morning, that Draco's body reacts to the memory. He watches Harry's lips curl into a smirk.

"Are you remembering the shower?" Harry asks.

"Are you?" Flash. Harry licks his lips. Flash.

"Maybe," says Harry's mouth, while Harry's body says something else entirely.

"Now grab his coat by the collar, Harry," Gillian says. Harry brings his hands up and wraps his fists in the fabric of Draco's jacket, pulling their faces closer together. Draco swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Harry's lips are inches from his. In his nervous excitement, Draco worries his bottom lip between his teeth. There is another flash.

"Wonderful," Gillian says. There is a long pause where neither of them move and then Gillian prompts them again. "Now kiss, please." Draco does not need telling twice. He closes the gap between them and presses his lips onto Harry's. He is vaguely aware of more flashes going off, but he is too wrapped up in the kiss to notice.

So much for self control.

* * *

Apologies for the delay on this. Hockey has taken over my life. Feedback, as ever, is appreciated.


	11. Draco Versus The Park

"You realize that's going to be the cover," Harry says once they have changed back into their own clothes and left the Witch Weekly offices.

"What is?"

"The kiss."

"What?" Draco stops walking in his surprise.

"It's _Witch Weekly_. Of course they're going to go with the raciest picture for the cover."

"Oh shit." But Harry just shrugs.

"Gillian will probably make it look classy. She has a soft spot for me."

"Is that why you had a translucent shirt?" Draco asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone.

"Oh, most definitely. Her readers will _love_ it." Draco starts to laugh, but Harry continues speaking. "Just like you did." Draco stops walking again.

"That's not fair," he splutters. "I was acting."

"Were you?"

"You have no evidence that says otherwise." Harry arches an eyebrow at him.

"No evidence, you say?" His eyes flick downwards towards Draco's crotch and Draco flushes.

"You can hardly talk," Draco retorts. Harry shrugs and starts to walk again. Draco follows. They walk through the streets of Muggle London in silence for a few minutes, taking turns seemingly at random until Draco asks where they are going.

"Nowhere in particular," Harry says. "I was slowly directing us back towards my house, but is there anywhere else you would want to go?"

"Potter, your house is bloody miles from here."

"It's not miles. It's about a half hour's brisk walk," Harry protests. "And it's a lovely one - down the Embankment." Draco narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Plus, it's a beautiful day," Harry continues.

This is true. It is one of the rare sunny days where London is warm, but not sweltering. They turn the corner of the street they are on and the river comes into view at the end of the road. Sunlight streams down through the trees that line the Embankment and Draco finds himself relenting.

"Fine," he grouses. "Let's go on your bloody romantic walk."

"It's not romantic. It's just a walk along the river."

"You say that, but look." Draco gestures at the dappled light and the - well, mostly brown - river. "Just look at that bridge."

"If you think that bridge is nice, just wait until you see the next one."

"This is not helping your case."

"All _I_ suggested was walking home. You're the one who called it a romantic walk." Draco cannot admit that Harry is right as that will mean that Harry has won, so instead he says nothing until they have crossed the street and are walking along the river path.

"Half an hour, you said?" he asks, checking his watch.

"Give or take." But Draco has stopped walking again and is staring at his watch. The face of it has turned a funny purple color.

"What's this?" he asks, pointing at it.

"It means you have a message."

"A message?" Harry sighs. It is clear to Draco that Harry thinks someone else should have explained this to him.

"You'll need to poke it with your wand and whisper 'Show me' for it to work." He steers Draco to the nearest bench and sits him down. "But try to make it subtle." He glances around at the few pedestrians who are also strolling along the Embankment at one pm on a Monday.

Draco gently extends his wand out from under his sleeve and taps the watch, following Harry's instructions. Small words scroll around the watch face.

 _Meet your newest co-worker: me! How are you two doing on establishing your cover? - Pansy_

Draco glances up at Harry, but the other man is not looking at him, but rather gazing out over the river.

"How do I respond?" Draco asks, bringing Harry's attention back to him.

"Tap your watch with your finger now." Draco does and a small menu pops up. One option reads 'respond', so Draco taps that.

"Now what?"

"Hold it up to your mouth and say your response. The watch will translate it into text which will show up on the other Unspeakable's watch." Draco nods and does as instructed, holding the watch close and muttering in to it so that Harry cannot hear him.

"We have just been to Witch Weekly to establish Potter and me as a couple. Thanks for your _wonderful_ suggestion of a cover story, by the way." He pulls his wrist away and looks down at the watch. Sure enough, his words are there in text form, with a small 'Send?' above it. Draco realizes that sarcasm might not come across well in text only format. It looks as though he is actually thanking her, when he means the opposite. (Or does he?) He tries again, replacing the word wonderful with terrible and then sends it.

"I'll have Banks show you how it fully works the next time we're in the office," Harry says. He pushes himself off the bench and they continue their walk. A few paces later, Draco feels his watch vibrate. He starts and looks down at it. It is glowing purple again. He is not sure how he missed the vibration the first time around. He supposes he must have been distracted during their photo shoot.

He doesn't stop as he quickly prods the watch face with his wand.

 _Haha_ is all that Pansy's response reads. He scowls at the watch. Of course she is enjoying this. And if Draco's honest with himself, he kind of is too.

…

Harry knows he should stop flirting. Harry knows he should give himself more time to get over Oliver before launching his emotions into anything new, particularly if that thing is also _not supposed to happen or he could lose his job_. He knows he is playing with fire. But he just can't stop himself.

There is something about Draco Malfoy that he just can't resist. There probably always has been. And now that Draco has suggested that this walk is a romantic one, Harry almost sees it that way. The weather is nice. There are very few people around, and the view of Battersea Park across the river is so green and inviting.

"Do you want to go to the park?" he asks on a whim.

"The park?" Draco asks. Harry points across the river.

"That park."

"Why?"

"To get spotted by wizarding paparazzi, of course."

"But we just-"

"-More can only help."

"You have no off button, do you?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"It's my job." Does it tire Harry to always be on alert and be aware that people could spot him at any minute? Yes, but he also feels like he has trained for it his whole life. He knows how to have a good time while also worrying about other things. "But at least the park might be relaxing."

"How so?"

"In the park, we can lie on the grass and just chat." Harry is now very enthusiastic about this idea and so he turns back to the Battersea bridge and they start in that direction.

"What would we have to chat about?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about our halcyon school days?" Harry grins.

"You mean the ones where we tried to kill each other all the time?"

"You never _really_ tried to kill me," Harry says. He reaches out and takes Draco's hand as they walk. For appearances sake, of course.

"No, but you _did_ try to kill _me_ ," Draco replies softly. He gently pulls his hand out of Harry's grasp.

They make their way across the bridge in silence. Harry doesn't know what to say. He's not a hundred percent sure what Draco means, but he doesn't want to ask about it until they are sprawled on the grass in the sun. The closer they get to the park, the more Harry feels like this is the right way to spend the afternoon. They both have baggage, much of which concerns each other, and it will be easier to talk about in a neutral setting for both of them.

As they enter Battersea park, they encounter an ice cream truck. Harry decides that ice cream is exactly what they need on this sunny, summer day, and so gets them each a Cornetto. They meander through the park, eating their ice creams, until they find a small knoll topped with a tree, which provides shade from the afternoon sun. They settle under the tree, Harry sprawled on the grass but propped up by his elbow and Draco sitting cross legged beside him.

It is warm, but not overly so, and Harry takes his time finishing his ice cream. He wishes he'd had the foresight to buy some water as well, as the Cornetto is making him thirsty. He supposes he could apparate home to get some, but that would defeat the purpose of walking home. Instead, he finishes his ice cream, savoring the chocolate at the end of the cone. When he is done, he rolls onto his back and stretches his arms above his head.

"Comfy, Potter?" Draco asks.

"Very." Harry closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. But they are not just here to relax, so he sits up after luxuriating for a moment.

"What did you mean by saying that I'd tried to kill you?" he asks. There is no point in avoiding the topic, so he decides to get right to the point.

"You don't remember?" Draco looks almost hurt.

"I more meant, can you remind me which particular time?" Harry hazards. He knows this doesn't really make it sound better. Draco narrows his eyes but nods. He reaches up and undoes his top two buttons, pulling open his shirt to reveal a spiderweb of pale scars.

"Do you remember now?" Draco asks. He lets the shirt go and the cloth falls back to cover the majority of the scars, but Harry can still see the shiny edge of one just below Draco's collar. He bites his lip. This is what he had thought Draco was referring to.

"That was one of the worst days of my life," Harry whispers. "I felt absolutely awful for what I had done to you." In his mind's eye, he can still see Draco lying on the bathroom floor, covered in blood, with Moaning Myrtle's shrieks in the background. He shudders at the memory.

"Why? We were enemies," Draco says.

"No, we weren't. I didn't _like_ you," Harry clarifies. "But I never really thought of you as my enemy. Had I known that was what the curse did, I would never have used it."

"You used an _unknown curse_ on me?" Draco asks, incredulous.

"It's a long story."

"We have time." Harry sighs. Draco is right. They have all the time in the world to talk about all of the things he has tried to forget from his school days. He sighs.

"Where do I even start?"

…

"So let me get this straight," Draco says after listening to Harry relate much of his sixth year at Hogwarts. "You had a book that helped you with potions?" He is laying on his side in the grass now, propped up on an elbow.

"Yes."

"And it was Snape's old book that he had written in?"

"Yes."

"Shit, no wonder you were suddenly better at Potions than I was." Harry gives him a tight lipped smile. "You know you took away my only joy from that year?" It is true. Potions was the only class that had kept Draco going during sixth year, consumed as he was by the challenge of getting the stupid matching cabinets to work.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. He truly looks it. He is looking up at Draco through his eyelashes.

"Oh, stop it with the puppy dog eyes," Draco snaps at him, but he smiles to let him know he isn't overly annoyed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not sure I actually _learned_ anything. I was still clueless when it came to theory. Do you remember the lesson where Slughorn had us brew antidotes to his mystery poison?"

"Do I ever? That was possibly the hardest potions challenge he ever gave us. And possibly the only one that I beat you at that year."

"Yep," Harry says. "All I could think of was a bezoar." He buries his face in his hands, ashamed even now.

"That took balls," Draco says. He gives Harry a small smile as he thinks back to how shocked everyone had been that the Golden Boy had all but cheated on that assignment.

"That was my Hail Mary pass," Harry says. Draco frowns at him, unsure of what the phrase means. "Right, that's a muggle term, and an American one on top of that. It's basically a very long pass in American football, typically made in desperation, with only a small chance of success and or time running out on the clock. Which is _exactly_ what the bezoar was for me." Draco nods.

"So you mean to say that I _am_ better at Potions than you are?" he asks. Harry smirks at him.

"You still care about that?"

"Of course. It was the only time I ever felt more accomplished than you in school."

"Well, then I'm sure you will be pleased to hear that there are still times that we have to brew potions at the Ministry. You can show me up to all my superiors." Draco pumps his fist in excitement.

"Yes," he cries. Harry rolls his eyes.

"Oh, quiet you," he says. "And come here." Harry gestures towards himself.

"Sorry?"

"Don't you want to pose for the tabloid witches?"

"Are they around? I can't see anyone." Draco looks around, wondering if Harry can see something he can't. Perhaps Harry has better eyes for this kind of thing as he has lived with it his whole life.

"Oh, I have no idea," Harry says, dispelling this idea. "I just figure that if I'm out in a public place, they must be hiding somewhere."

"I can't decide if that is vanity or paranoia," Draco says, but he shifts over until he is laying closer to Harry. It is clearly not what Harry wanted him to do, because the brunet sighs deeply before raising himself up on his knees and shuffling behind Draco's head and sitting down again.

"Lay on me," he commands. "Rest your head on my chest. Oh, better yet, I will lean against the tree and then you lean against me."

"This is quite the production," Draco mutters, but he does as Harry requests and a moment later, he finds himself happily ensconced between Harry's legs, resting his head on Harry's chest. Harry shifts underneath him, until he is comfortable, and then wraps his arms around Draco.

"I'm so sorry about that curse," he says quietly into Draco's hair. "I really didn't mean to hurt you." Draco shrugs.

"I probably deserved it."

"No." Harry's voice is fierce against his head.

"But I was working to get Death Eaters into the school." It is a thing Draco regrets to this day.

"Did you have a choice?" Draco closes his eyes and the image of Voldemort looming at him in the middle of his father's study, shortly after Lucius's arrest is as clear as day in his head. He shudders and feels Harry's arms tighten around him. "I didn't think so."

…

They stay in the park for another few hours, talking about their school days, laughing about how much a jerk Snape had been to Harry. They apologize ad nauseum to each other for how mean they had been to each other. Draco tries not to take it too personally when Harry laughs for a solid minute at the memory of the time Mad Eyed Moody had turned him into a ferret. But Draco has to admit, when he looks back at those days, he is almost unsurprised that his parents had had a bet on he and Potter getting together. His entire school years were filled with their (mostly awful) interactions.

"Now, did you really want to come here for the photo op?" Draco asks. He is now laying in the grass with his head in Harry's lap. "Or was it just an excuse to get close to me again."

"How unprofessional of you to even ask. I am not enjoying this in the slightest." But the grin on Harry's face betrays that he is kidding. Or at least that he is good enough at pretending to date someone that he can joke about whether or not he is or is not enjoying himself. Draco isn't sure how good Harry's poker face is. He wonders if he should challenge him to an actual game of poker in order to find out. Draco's own poker face is out of practice, but he knows that with time, it will come right back to him. A benefit of growing up with the threat of Voldemort around the house.

"Yeah, me neither," Draco says. "Absolutely miserable." Harry reaches down and ruffles Draco's hair. Draco sits up abruptly and smooths it back down.

"That was uncalled for, you cretin," he says.

"I'm a cretin, am I?"

"Yes."

"Eh," Harry says, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I've been called worse."

"By me, I'm sure." At this, Harry laughs. He reaches out and pulls Draco back against his chest, they way they had been earlier. Draco smiles as Harry wraps his arms around him again. In spite of himself, he feels safe in Harry's arms. But then, is that so strange? Harry is around to protect him. Just as he feels Harry lean down and kiss the top of his head, which makes his stomach turn over in excitement, his watch buzzes and turns orange.

"What does this mean?" he asks, holding up his wrist to show Harry.

"Moving picture message with sound."

"So, like a video?" Draco asks.

"I wasn't sure if you knew what videos were," Harry mumbles.

"How do I watch it?" Harry pushes Draco off of his chest, and then sits up straighter. He looks around for a long moment, sweeping his gaze around the park.

"Ideally, it wouldn't be in public," he says quietly.

"So, we should go pretend to make out in some bushes like we're horny teenagers?" Draco points to a large, leafy tangle of bushes a few hundred meters away. Harry seems to weigh this idea for a moment before nodding. Draco clambers to his feet and then takes Harry's hand and pulls him up. Then he drags him, looking around conspiratorially, to the bush.

Once they are ensconced in its leafy embrace, he pulls out his wand and looks to Harry as to how to get the message to play.

"You just tap it and say 'Show me'," Harry says. "Same as the other messages." Draco nods and does so. Pansy's face projects out from the watch face.

"Draco," she says. Her voice seems to fill Draco's head without traveling through his ears. "We need you to look at this. This man just entered the country on a falsified visa." He frowns as she holds up a picture of a person. And then it happens again. That strange feeling of suddenly knowing something. Or, more accurately, suddenly recalling a thing he already knows, but had briefly forgotten. He stares at the face again.

"What is is?" Harry asks.

"That man is plotting to kill someone tonight. At the Dorchester Hotel." Another puzzle piece slides into place in Draco's brain. "That Croatian diplomat. Heilgar Mottić." He blinks, suddenly fatigued and slumps his shoulders.

"Is that all you know?" Harry asks. "Do you know how he's going to do it?" Draco shakes his head, and then frowns.

"The man, Marc Thiessen, is a known poisoner. Or, at least suspected. He's often been in the area when high profile poisonings have taken place, but no one has been able to pin anything on him yet."

"We need to take this to Croaker," Harry says. Draco nods, then jumps as Harry grabs his arm and they disapparate.

It has been a while since Draco has done side-along apparition, and the feeling panics him for a moment. But he takes a deep breath, remembering to relax, and then the squeezing sensation is gone and they are standing in the Atrium of the Ministry. There are witches and wizards milling about, something which surprises Draco until he remembers that it is a Monday and that most people have work.

He spots Pansy through the throngs of people and he tugs Harry in her direction.

"Well?" she asks, falling into step with them as they make their way over to the elevators. Draco fills her in on his vision. Then he wonders if he should call it a vision as he doesn't necessarily _see_ anything, he just _knows_ things. Like a flash of inspiration.

"We should take this to Croaker," Pansy says as he finishes his explanation. "Or Granger." Harry shrugs.

"Either one," he says. "I think Hermione is our direct Head for this project, right?" Pansy thinks for a minute before nodding. She presses the down button on the elevator.

…

"Good work, Malfoy," Hermione says once Draco has told her what he knows. Then she turns to Harry and Parkinson, who are standing slightly off to the side. "You three will go to the party tonight. Harry, you will go as yourself. Malfoy, you are his date. After all, it's official now isn't it?" She allows herself a small smile. "Parkinson, you will disguised as a waiter."

Parkinson looks as though she is about to roll her eyes, but she nods instead.

"I want you to stop this murder from happening. When you get to the party, I want you to find Thiessen and surreptitiously tail him. If you can, photograph him slipping Mottić the poison, and then prevent the poisoned object from getting to Mottić. Once we have evidence that he's been behind these poisonings, we can arrest him. But until then, you are to keep a low profile. Is that understood?" The three of them nod.

"What's the attire?" Harry asks. He prays that it's black tie. It's been so long since he's been to a formal function and he's dying to get his tuxedo out again.

"Black tie," Hermione confirms. Harry tries to hide his little wiggle of joy, but he knows Hermione caught it. He can tell by the twinkle in her eye.

"Crap," Draco says. They all turn to him. "I don't have a tuxedo."

"Well then," Hermione says, clapping her hand together once. "I guess you should go and see Bertie."

…

Draco says nothing as he follows Harry and Pansy back out of Hermione's office. There is a bounce in Potter's step for reasons that Draco doesn't know. He wants to ask who the mysterious Bertie is, but he reckons he will learn in short order, so he stays quiet. Seemingly whoever put together the Reliquary did not include information on this Bertie fellow. Either he is so top secret that he is not even _in_ the Reliquary, or he is so universally known that he wears deemed unnecessary in a database of secret information.

It turns out to be the latter.

They take the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the ministry and step out into a bustling corridor. Draco follows Harry and Pansy as they make their way past a long line along one wall. He is surprised to see that it leads to a single room, and is even more surprised when Harry pulls out his Unspeakable badge, flashes it, and cuts to the head of said line.

Draco squints at the plaque next to the door. It reads Bertram Rail, Clothier. Draco is still frowning at the plaque when the door opens and Harry ushers him inside. Pansy waits outside for reasons that become abundantly clear when Harry immediately pushes Draco into a changing room and instructs him to strip down to his underwear.

"But," he says.

"Bertie is very busy, Draco. He doesn't have time for your modesty." Draco tries to protest, but realizes it is useless. He quickly disrobes and then peeks his head out from behind the changing room door.

Harry is deep in conversation with a tall (relatively), slender young goblin. Draco coughs nervously and they turn to face him.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," the goblin says. "Please come here." Draco steps tentatively out into the room and stands on the box that the goblin points to.

"This is Bertie," Harry says to Draco. He is taking great care to look only at Draco's face, which Draco appreciates. "He's going to fit you for some clothes." Harry turns back to Bertie. "He probably needs a full party set, Bert. Suits in all colors and styles, both Muggle and wizard. Also a tuxedo. Oh, and some pajamas."

"Pajamas?" Draco asks.

"I think maybe silk ones, don't you think?" Harry carries on, ignoring Draco.

"Yes, silk is good," Bertie says. Then he turns to Draco. "Stand up straight. Arms out. Don't move."

Once Draco is measured, a process which seems to take an age and involves pretending to be fine with a stranger touching him all over, Bertie claps his hands and sends Draco back to the dressing room. He gratefully changes back into his clothes and when he emerges, Bertie waves him out into the corridor.

"I shall send your items to your residence, Mr. Malfoy. Expect them in," he consults his watch. "About an hour." And that is that.

…

Bertie is true to his word. An hour after Draco leaves his… office? a large parcel arrives by owl mail to his house.

"What's that?" Greg asks, eyeing the small fleet of owls that were employed to carry the package.

"Mail order clothes," Draco says in what he hopes is a convincing voice. He had not anticipated Greg being home when the clothes arrived. Nor did he imagine there would be so bloody many of them.

"You been mail ordering while drunk again?" Greg asks.

"Yes," Draco says. "With my birthday money." Greg nods, satisfied at this explanation, and goes back to the game of Wizard's Chess he is playing against Harry. Harry, as it turns out, is not very good at Wizard's Chess.

"Ah, shit," Harry says as Greg's queen dismembers his knight. "I did not see that coming."

"Aren't you supposed to be good at this?" Draco asks. He has wrestled the parcel in the window, using a shrinking charm. Now he is surrounded by a gaggle of owls, all wanting treats. He reaches into the bread bin and tears off chunks of a loaf for them.

"What makes you say that?" Harry asks.

"Wasn't there that thing, in first year, when there was something to do with you and a giant chess match or whatever?" Draco asks. He ushers the owls back out of the window and then shuts it behind them with a loud bang.

"Nah," Harry says. "That was all Ron."

"That explains a lot," Greg says. He watches as Harry makes his next move and then sends his bishop after one of Harry's pawns. Harry looks as though he might protest for a moment, but then slowly nods his head as the bishop whacks his pawn clear off of the board.

"What is the Weasel up to these days anyway?" Draco asks. He sits down next to Harry at the table.

" _Ron_ ," Harry says pointedly. "Is running Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George."

"Oh," Greg says. "That's just up the street. We should invite him over sometime." Draco wants to vehemently say no, but Harry's face lights up at the idea, so he squashes his feelings. He supposes this is what comes from fake dating Potter. At least Granger _knows_ their relationship is a cover and so he won't need to befriend her.

"Yes," Harry says. "We _should_ have Ron and Hermione over. Then you can have a proper game of chess." So much for not needing to get to know Granger. Draco looks at his watch.

"Uh, Harry," he says. "We need to get ready." Both Harry and Greg turn to look at him.

"Ready for what?" Greg asks.

"We're going to a party," Harry explains. He sighs, as though bored by it already. "I get invited to all these boring diplomatic parties."

"Ah, yes," Greg says. "Being famous must be so difficult." Harry purses his lips but says nothing.

"So, shall we go change?" Draco asks pointedly after enough time has gone by that it is awkward. Harry nods and pushes his chair back from the table.

"Don't wait up," he says, winking at Greg.

"Golden cock," Greg mutters to himself as they leave the room.


	12. Draco Versus The Diplomat

Draco is gobsmacked when he opens the parcel of clothing. There are suits in various colors along with multiple sets of dress robes, all of which are nicer than anything he has ever owned. There are several more casual outfits - some nicely tailored trousers, a few exceedingly soft sweaters and half a dozen or more button down shirts - and then there are the pajamas.

Draco is not sure he's ever seen pajamas so nice. A few of them are silk, but the vast majority are some sort of knitted cotton that seem impossibly soft. He can't wait to get into them at bedtime.

But before he can do that, he has a mission to attend to.

He pulls the tuxedo out of the box and performs a quick wrinkle release spell on it. With nothing to wait for, he starts getting dressed. Harry has gone back to his house to get his own tuxedo, but Draco doesn't want to wait for him.

Instead he kicks off his shoes and strips down to his underwear for what seems like the twentieth time that day.

When he pulls on the trousers, the first thing he notices is how well they fit. He is not surprised - Bertie did take very thorough measurements - but he is pleased. He quickly finishes dressing and then looks at himself in the mirror. He looks good. And he knows it. It is confirmed when Harry materializes behind him with a crack and takes in his appearance with briefly undisguised lust that is then quickly hidden. Draco feels butterflies in his stomach again, but squashes them down.

He turns his attention back to his reflection. His tuxedo is navy with a shiny black lapel. It was a color pairing he wasn't sure would work, but it looks nice paired with his black cummerbund and bow tie.

"You clean up nicely," Harry says.

"Thank you, but I'm not finished," Draco says, brushing past Harry on his way to the bathroom. He quickly styles his hair, parting it to the side and securing it with the smallest amount of gel. Then he steps back and admires himself again. He nods once at his reflection and then joins Harry again on the landing.

"Yes," Harry says, looking him up and down. "You're attractive enough to be my boyfriend."

"You're not too bad yourself," Draco replies. And it's true. It is clear that Bertie had a hand in Harry's suit too, as it fits him like a glove.

"Shall we?" Harry asks, holding out his arm.

"Yes," Draco says. He takes Harry's arm. He forces himself to relax for the side along apparition again, but is surprised when instead Harry reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a silver shimmering cloth. Draco stares at it, eye agog.

"Undetectable extension charm," Harry says, pointing at his pocket. "You wouldn't believe how much I have in there."

"But is this," Draco gestures at the cloth. "An invisibility cloak?"

"Yes, we hid under it the other night," Harry says. The image of he and Harry crouched under a cloak while Pansy tried to find them floats to the top of Draco's mind. He's not sure why that hadn't stuck out to him more at the time. He supposes it is because he had been busy fearing for his life.

"Right," he says. "What's it for?"

"For us to be invisible," Harry says. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"Yes, I got that," Draco snaps. "But why do we have to be invisible? We're going to a party."

"In Muggle London," Harry points out. "To which we are apparating." The pieces click together in Draco's mind.

"I see," he says. "Ready when you are." Harry swings the cloak over them and Draco grips Harry's arm. He takes a deep breath and relaxes as Harry apparates them both away.

…

Harry and Draco emerge in the shadows of a small mews street near the back of the hotel. Harry looks around and once he sees they aren't in eyesight of anyone, whips the invisibility cloak off of the two of them and pushes Draco against the nearest wall, both in one swift movement. He presses his lips against Draco's for a long moment and then pulls away, in the hopes that it will seem like they have just been kissing in the shadows, rather than appearing out of thin air.

Then he grabs the rather dazed Draco by the hand and pulls him in the direction of the hotel, stuffing the invisibility cloak in his inner pocket as he does.

"Come on," he says. His mouth quirks up at the corner in a half smile as they emerge onto the main road.

"What's that little smirk for?" Draco asks.

"Nothing," Harry says. He turns to Draco and takes a moment making sure that Draco's bowtie is straight. Draco bats his hands away.

"Get off," he says. "My bowtie is fine." They cross the street and walk towards the main entrance to the hotel.

"Are you ready?" Harry asks as they draw closer to the doors. He glances to the side and sees Draco chewing on his lip. He reaches out and takes Draco's hand again. He squeezes it once before dropping it. "It's going to be fine. I will be with you the whole time. And Parkinson will be there too." Draco nods slowly and stops worrying at his lip.

"Let's do this," he says.

…

The Ballroom at the Dorchester, normally beautiful, is today overshadowed by corporate drab. There are unassuming round tables set with the plates they reserve only for the blandest of functions. Even the candles, many of which are stuttering in their wicks, look stifled.

Men in suits and women in dull colored dresses mill about the room, forming impromptu circles before drifting apart again. While the dress is black tie, it is clearly not celebration black tie. This is a work function for everyone involved.

A few heads turn as Harry enters the room and Draco gets a few curious glances, but for the most part people are more concerned with networking to pay them much mind. Harry takes Draco's elbow and steers him toward the bar. Parkinson does not acknowledge them until they are right in front of her.

"What can I get you?" she asks.

"Gin and tonic," Harry replies and then nudges Draco.

"Make that two," the blond says. Parkinson nods once and then busies her hands. Harry leans casually on the counter.

"Seen our guy yet?" he mutters.

"It's a little difficult to see the whole room from here, but no, I haven't seen him yet," Parkinson says into the measures she is pouring. "Mottić arrived about five minutes before you did." Parkinson looks up briefly and Harry follows her gaze until he spots the Croatian diplomat. He nudges Draco with his toe and waits until he is sure Draco has also noticed Mottić.

"I will go introduce myself," Harry says. "Draco, you stay with Parkinson and keep and eye out for Thiessen." Parkinson hands Harry his drink and he raises it to Draco in a brief toast before heading out into the crowd.

It is time to do what Harry enjoys least about his job: small talk.

…

Draco watches as Harry walks away. He feels a bit slighted by the fact that he has been told to stay with Pansy, but this is his first mission and he isn't quite sure what he is supposed to do. From what he can see, all Potter does is talk to the group of people he has joined and he feels like that is a skill that is safely in his wheelhouse. He was brought up as a Malfoy after all. But he does as Potter asks and stays near Pansy, sweeping the room with his eyes.

He is not entirely sure what he is looking for, aside from Thiessen himself, so he makes sure to note as much as possible. After a few minutes, he realizes he is only looking at the people in formal attire, rather than also looking at the waiters and he corrects himself. He is glad that he does, because a few minutes later, he sees a man walk in carrying a tray of passed hor d'eurves. It is not Thiessen, but as he looks at the man's face, he knows, with that flash of clarity, that it is an associate of his. He keeps his eye on the man, and leans back against the bar. He lifts his glass at Pansy to get her attention. He puts it down and lifts his hand to idly scratch his temple, turning on his skin mounted communication charm.

"What can I help you with?" she asks. He nods in the direction of the the man with the tray.

"Those crab cakes look awfully good," he says.

"Crab cakes?" Pansy seems momentarily confused and Draco realizes he has not given enough information.

"Yes, those ones on the tray." Here he lowers his voice. "Carried by Thiessen's associate. A man by the name of Earles. He's currently passing table twelve."

He watches as Harry looks up from his conversation and spots Earles, who is nearing their group. He appears to make a joke because the group laughs loudly enough that Draco can hear them from across the room. Harry's arm wave large, seemingly as part of his joke, and he manages to knock the tray of appetizers out of Earles's hands. Harry's hand grazes his temple as he lowers his arms back down and suddenly Draco can hear exactly what is being said.

"I'm so sorry," Harry's voice says in his head. "I didn't see you there." He crouches as if to help pick up the spilled appetizers, but other servers have swarmed in and they wave him off. Earles looks irritated for a moment, but he picks up his tray and Draco watches as he leaves the room. He is surprised to see Pansy follow him a second later. He had not noticed her leave from behind the bar.

A moment later he hears her say, "I've got him," and Draco relaxes a little bit. He continues to sweep the room with his eyes while Pansy does what ever she has to do to secure Earles. His vigilance is rewarded as he spots Thiessen when he slips in, wearing a tuxedo.

"Thiessen just walked in," he mutters.

He picks up his drink and makes his way into the crowd, keeping an eye on Thiessen as he does. He smiles and nods at people as he passes them. The social skills learned from years of navigating his parents' social parties come right back to him and he says a quick "pardon me," or "I'm sorry," as he slides past people.

Draco joins Harry's circle of conversation with practiced ease, though his attention is still on the alleged poisoner. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Thiessen picks up a champagne flute from a tray and joins another conversation.

Draco feels as though he is back at the Malfoy Manor Christmas party, quietly keeping tabs on Vince's surprisingly attractive French cousin, Pierre. He could have told you at any moment where Pierre was in relation to him in a room, no matter how crowded, and while he doesn't find Thiessen attractive, he pretends that he does.

Once he is introduced to the members of Harry's conversational circle, he joins in the conversation on the current downturn of the economy, all the while tracking Thiessen's movements out of the corner of his eye. He discusses the effect that the economy is having on apparent support for the Tories while he watches Thiessen circle the tables, and what this might mean in terms of the Prime Minister as he observes Thiessen switch a pair of name cards at a table. He is not sure how to convey this information to Harry however, as they are still stuck in the same circle of people.

He looks around and pretends to spot someone in the crowd, raising his glass as he does. He excuses himself and walks away. He briefly greets a confused looking woman before he meanders his way over to the table where Thiessen was previously skulking. Thiessen, he notes, has taken his place in the conversation with Harry.

"Thiessen has switched a name tag on Mottiç's table," Draco mutters, hoping that his voice spell will pick it up.

"Which one?" Pansy's voice asks in his head.

"Looks like he picked up another name and replaced it with his own. He is now next to Mottiç's wife."

"Well, you two are at their table too, so you can keep an eye on him."

"Clever."

"What else would we be?"

"Fair point."

He joins another conversation, this one about the upcoming Beijing Summer Olympics - "I've heard that young Tom Daly is promising" - before a voice comes over the loudspeaker calling them all to dinner.

…

Harry is so focussed on Thiessen and what he might be up to that he barely tastes dinner. He is aware of the fact that the steak that he is eating is cooked to the perfect temperature, but it could be a bowl of cereal for all that he savors it. Draco has come to life across the table from him, chatting amiably to everyone at the table. He can hear the conversation inside of his head and he is surprised that Draco can concentrate even while hearing two things at once. It is a skill that usually takes people years to master.

But for as much as Harry concentrates on Thiessen out of the corner of his eye, he does not see the other man do anything. It is only when he hears a loud clearing of a throat that he looks up at Draco, who is staring pointedly at Thiessen that he realizes anything is wrong. Thiessen is leaning over Mottiç's wife and shaking the diplomat's hand. Harry activates his recording spell and hopes that Draco has already done the same. There is a long moment where nothing happens, and then Thiessen sits back in his seat and continues their conversation. Harry keeps his recording spell on and decides that he should just keep it on for the rest of dinner.

Their dinner plates are cleared and Harry stays on high alert while dessert is served. Thiessen excuses himself to go to the restroom and Harry tracks him with his eyes as he leaves the room.

"Parkinson?" he mutters.

"On it," he hears her say. Content, he relaxes for a moment. And that's when he notices that Mottiç is rapidly turning blue. A moment later, his wife begins to shriek. Draco is the first out of his seat, running over to the Croatian diplomat and talking to him. Harry rushes over and joins him. At the sound of screaming, most people flee to the exits. Harry ignores them.

"Stay with me, Heilgar," he hears Draco say. "You're going to be just fine." Harry grabs Mottiç's hands and looks at them. As he suspected, there is a small puncture mark on the heel of his palm.

"Shit," he mutters. He reaches into his inner pocket and pulls out a blood test strip and a small lancet. He quickly pricks the pad of Mottiç's ring finger and then holds the strip up against it. Then he slips his wand up his sleeve before surreptitiously waving it over the test strip. He reaches into his jacket pocket again and pulls out a piece of parchment, onto which his wand then pours out its data.

"What are you doing?" Draco hisses. The diplomat has now fully slumped down in his chair, so Draco lowers him to the floor and lays him on his side.

"Figuring out what the hell is wrong with him," Harry snaps.

"He's clearly been poisoned."

"Yes, thank you Captain Obvious, but I'm trying to figure out what he was poisoned _with_."

"Well, what does it say?" Draco asks. Harry quints down at the parchment and his heart sinks. There is a complicated mess of several poisons in Mottiç's system. He shoves the parchment at Draco.

"You're the potions whizz," he snaps. "You tell me." Draco snatches the parchment out of Harry's hands and stares down at it. His forehead creases as he reads.

"Fuck," Harry hears him mutter. He is not sure if he hears it more because he is standing next to Draco or because their communication spell is still in full effect.

Harry leans down and listens to Mottiç's breathing. It is starting to sound labored and Harry knows they do not have much time.

"Any ideas?" he asks.

…

Draco's mind races through antidotes, all of which take time to brew. And Mottiç needs at least three of them.

"Do you have," he starts to ask and then he stops. Their conversation from this afternoon plays itself back in his head.

 _"Yep," Harry had said. "All I could think of was a bezoar."_

He grabs Harry's arm, suddenly sure of what to do. "Do you have a bezoar?" He watches as comprehension dawns in Harry's eyes.

"Possibly," the brunet says. He swings his jacket off in one smooth motion and begins to rifle through the inner pocket. Any muggle watching must be confused as Harry all but puts his entire torso into the inner pocket of his jacket. Draco can hear the tinkling sound of glass bottles being pushed against each other and then, happily, the popping of a cork.

"I've got him," Pansy's voice says over the comms spell.

"I've got it," Harry says a moment later. He extricates himself from his jacket pocket and slaps a small round stone into Draco's hand. Draco doesn't hesitate, but opens Mottiç's mouth and shoves the stone inside it. Then he holds his breath while he counts to ten, releasing it only when he sees Mottiç's color start to return to normal.

"I think he's stabilizing," he says.

"Let's get a medical team in here just in case," Harry says.

"Already called," Pansy says.

"Good job, Parkinson."

"I'm going to bring this asshole into the Ministry, along with his pal Earles."

"Copy that," Harry says and Draco feels like he is in a muggle spy movie. Which, he supposes, isn't far off the truth. He is for all intents and purposes, a spy now.

A small crowd, made up of the few people who did not run to the exits, has formed around them, but Harry asks them to give them some space. Draco stays where he is, kneeling by Mottiç's head. He is in a bit of a daze and almost doesn't notice when Mottiç's wife (Rita, but a different Rita from Heilgar's first wife) comes over to thank him. She throws her arms around him and he fights to stay upright under her sudden barrage of affection.

He looks up at Harry and scowls when he sees that the brunet is quietly laughing at his situation. But really he can't complain because they just saved a man's life and it's the most alive Draco has felt in a while. So he turns his scowl into a smile.

The medi-wizards arrive a moment later and take charge of the situation, leaving Draco to extricate himself from Rita Mottiç.

"Nicely done," Harry leans in and whispers in his ear once he has stood up. Without thinking, Draco reaches out an arm and pulls Harry closer to him.

"Are all your missions this high stress?" he asks. He feels Harry place a hand on the small of his back and he immediately feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"Eh, some are, some aren't. But remember," Harry says, starting to trace small circles onto Draco's back. "I will be with you anytime you might be out in the field."

"Good."

"Now, come on. Let's get out of here." He nods at the medical team, one of whom returns the nod, and then he steers Draco out of the room.

…

Harry takes Draco into the nearest empty room and closes the door. He pulls out his wand and secures the room, putting up wards to hide them, to keep people out, and to muffle their sounds. Every time Harry does this, he thinks back to his time spent camping with Ron and Hermione before the Battle of Hogwarts. He knows he is more proficient at these spells than most of the team, save for Hermione, thanks to that time.

Once the room is secure, he calls Hermione on his watch, projecting the image up on the opposite wall so that Draco can see it too. The debrief is short. Hermione congratulates them on both saving Mottiç and capturing Thiessen, and promises a full debrief in the morning, once they've had time to process Thiessen and Earles.

"We'll have a better idea on how Mottiç is doing as well," she says. "Good thinking on the bezoar by the way. That may well be the thing that saves his life."

"Thanks," Harry says. "That was all Draco."

"Great job, team," Hermione says. "Now go home and get some well earned rest. After all, Draco, you have work in the morning." Draco groans and nods and the call connection is cut off.

"Come on," Harry says, wrapping an arm around Draco's shoulder. He steers the blond out of the room and then out of the hotel. It is only when the cool night air hits their faces that Draco shrugs off Harry's arm. They walk in silence back to the alleyway that they arrived in before Harry throws the invisibility cloak around them and they apparate home.

…

"I am far too wired to sleep right now," Draco says once they reach the landing of 34 Sorella Gardens.

"It is only eight," Harry points out and Draco glances down at his watch to see that the other man is correct.

"I meant because I have adrenaline flooding my system."

"I know," Harry says. "I'm right there with you. But there's time to relax before bed." He reaches up and unties his bow tie, instead letting it hang down from his collar, the first two buttons of which, he undoes at the same time. Then he runs a hand through his hair, freeing it from whatever spell or gel had been holding it in place.

Draco feels suddenly heady at sight of the disheveled Harry that now stands in front of him.

"Oh, that's better," Harry says. "Far more comfortable." Draco nods and then shrugs out of his jacket.

"I might change into my new pajamas," he says. As soon as he had spotted them in his box of clothes, he had wanted to wear them, and now that they are home, he has no excuse not to.

"Brilliant," Harry said. "I'm going to do the same."

"Is that because you're highly unoriginal?"

"Or is it because you're a genius?

"Good point. Definitely the latter." Draco grabs a pair of the pajamas from the box that is still sitting on the floor of the landing and then disappears into the bathroom.

The pajamas are everything he has ever wanted in a pair of pajamas. They are soft, which makes them unbelievably comfortable, and yet they also actually look good albeit in a very relaxed way. He hadn't worn pajamas since Hogwarts, thinking that they were things that only school aged people wore, but he regrets this decision now as he feels like he could just live in these pajamas all the time. He hugs his arms to his chest in delight and then joins Harry again on the landing.

He stops in the doorway when he sees that Harry is wearing matching pajamas.

"What are those?" he asks, incredulous.

"Pajamas."

"Yes, but they're the same as mine."

"We go to the same tailor," Harry says as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yes, but what's Greg going to think?"

"That we're fucking adorable?"

"Potter, we've been 'dating'," and here Draco uses air quotes, "for two days."

"Fine," Harry says. He disappears into Draco's bedroom.

"Where are you-" Draco starts to ask, following him. He stops when he sees that Harry has pulled the pajama shirt off and is now shimmying out of the bottoms. His mouth goes dry. At least Harry is wearing boxers. But the boxers are a little tight, and they hug Harry's butt in a way that Draco really likes.

And then he notices that Harry is rummaging through a bag, which means that Harry is clearly planning to stay for a while. This, he supposes, answers the question of what the sleeping arrangements will be. But that also presents problems… Problems like Draco wanting nothing more than to walk across the room and wrap his arms around Harry's naked torso. And pull down those boxers to reveal the gorgeous arse that Draco knows is underneath them.

Harry pulls another set of pajamas out of the bag and puts them on. Rational thoughts return to Draco's brain.

"There," he says, turning around. "Now we don't match."

"Thank you," Draco says quietly.

"Now where's the whisky?"


	13. Draco Versus The Ice Cream Parlor

It takes several drinks, but eventually Draco feels the adrenaline start to fade. He is surprised to find that he is hungry again, so when Greg bids them goodnight after an hour of idle chatting, Draco decides to make a snack. Feeling lazy, he just makes toast and he hopes it will be enough to take the edge off of his hunger.

"Do you ever get used to his feeling?" he asks Harry as he settles himself at the kitchen table. Harry looks up from the armchair that he has draped himself in.

"What feeling?"

"This excitement."

"I mean, it's not overly exciting right now." Draco frowns and takes a bite of his toast. It is smothered in butter and then covered in cinnamon sugar. It feels like quite the indulgence for just being toast. But then, Draco reasons, he didn't get to have any dessert.

"I know it's not exciting _now_ ," he says once he has finished chewing. "But I meant earlier." Harry sighs deeply, then gets up to join Draco at the table.

"I wouldn't say you get used to it," he says slowly, staring into his whisky glass, which is all but empty now. "But you get better at dealing with it." He looks around for the whisky bottle, and, spotting it on the counter where Draco has left it, spells it over to the table. He pours some. He ends up pouring more than he had wanted, but he shrugs and begins to sip at it anyway. He looks up as Draco picks up the bottle.

"Well, if you're having more," the blonde mumbles before refilling his own glass. He finishes off his toast in another few bites and then leans back in his chair. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them, he blinks in astonishment, as Harry has picked up his empty plate and is walking it to the sink. Even as Draco starts to protest (feebly, to be fair), Harry picks up the sponge and runs the plate under the water.

"Thanks," Draco says as Harry places the now clean plate on the drying rack. "You didn't have to."

But Harry just shrugs off his thanks and walks back to the table.

"I'm very used to doing dishes," is all he says as he sits back down. Draco frowns at him, but he does not elaborate.

"So I take it you're staying here then?" Draco asks after a few minutes of silence. Harry looks up at him.

"If that's alright," he says. "I figured it was better for our cover."

"Of course."

"And, quite frankly," he starts to say, and then peters off. Draco watches as Harry nervously chews at a hangnail.

"And quite frankly what?" Draco prompts.

"I don't want to go home. It's lonely there."

"I'm not an emotional support puppy, Potter." Harry's eyes widen in surprise and then he gives a short bark of laughter. Draco rolls his eyes.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," the blond says, but there is no venom behind it. They finish their whiskies in silence and then, with a small nod of consent, they both rise from the table and make their way upstairs.

…

This time, they brush their teeth at the same time, standing at the his and, well, his sinks in Draco's bathroom. Draco spends a bit more time applying his nightly potions, but also keeps track of what Harry is using out of the corner of his eyes. He tells himself it is so that he can recommend things that Potter might need, but in reality it is because he is hyper aware of everything Potter is doing. He wishes he weren't. But seemingly, he has gone past the point of drinking until he doesn't care and gone all the way to drinking until he cares too much.

And while the whisky has dulled some of the adrenaline from earlier, it has also lowered his inhibitions. Thus, when he crawls into bed, it takes all of his will power not to move over to Potter's side of the bed and wrap his arms around the man. Because somehow, despite being tired and more than a little drunk, he is wide awake.

After a few minutes of trying to force his body to relax, he sighs loudly and turns onto his side. He starts in surprise as he finds that Potter is facing him. Potter's eyes are wide open.

When Draco doesn't look away, a smile spreads across Harry's lips. Draco swallows nervously. No good things are going to come from that smile.

"Hi," Harry whispers.

"Hello." Draco gives him a small, awkward nod. This serves to widen Harry's smile even more. Draco licks his lips. This is seemingly all of the invitation Harry needs to shuffle closer to Draco in the bed.

"This feels like more than a hello," Draco whispers. Harry snorts in amusement. He extricates his arm from under the covers and reaches out to cup Draco's face. He holds it there for a long moment before he snatches it away again, irritation flashing across his face as he does.

"We shouldn't," he says.

"No, " Draco agrees softly. "We shouldn't." Harry turns quickly onto his back and a rush of disappointment goes through Draco. But Harry stays firm, so Draco turns back over onto his other side again. It is a long time before he finally falls asleep.

...

"Morning," Draco says as he enters the kitchen the next morning. Greg looks up briefly from the Prophet and nods his hello.

"Where's Harry?" he asks when he sees that the brunet is not with Draco.

"Still sleeping," Draco grumbles.

"It must be nice being a professional celebrity," Greg says. Draco says nothing, just makes his way into the kitchen where he pours himself some coffee. When he sits down at the table, Greg passes over a section of the paper.

"You never mentioned that there was a disturbance at that event you went to," Greg says. Draco nearly chokes on his coffee.

"What's that?" Greg takes the section of the paper that he just handed to Draco and smoothes it down on the table. He points to the picture on the front page and Draco is surprised to see himself there.

"Oh, yes," he says. "That. Some diplomat was poisoned, but he's fine now. I didn't want to bring it up last night because I didn't want to worry you."

"It takes a lot to worry me," Greg says. "I've seen a lot."

"I have too," Draco says quietly, but he knows Greg probably holds the upper hand on who has seen the most shit.

"Glad you're alright though."

"Ha, same. Though, as I wasn't the one being poisoned, it's hard to say how I wouldn't have been."

"Still." Greg shrugs and pushes the paper back at Draco. "All yours," he says and turns back to reading.

Draco flips through the paper, swapping sections with Greg once he finishes the first, but nothing jumps out at him. He is kind of relieved. While he knows what he would do if he sees something that sparks the Reliquary, he is more than happy to have a stress free and normal morning.

Of course, when they get to work, it is anything but a normal morning. As Draco had guessed, he and Harry are on the cover of Witch Weekly. And it is the picture of them kissing. Because of course it is. Witch Weekly doesn't deal in subtlety. Subtlety doesn't sell magazines.

So Draco is greeted by an entire display case of pictures of himself playing tonsil Quidditch with, as the headline put it "Britain's most eligible wizarding bachelor". Just looking at the picture, it is obvious how into each other they are. Damn it. Draco prays that Pansy thinks he's just a good actor. He stares at it for a long moment, because while he may be biased, it's a very sexy picture. He's going to need to get a copy for himself when no one is looking.

"Hey there, lover boy," someone says as Draco enters the back room. It is Luca. Draco scowls at him. Luca, undeterred, waggles his eyebrows at him and wiggles his hips.

"Quiet down," Big Dick says, waving his arms to get everyone's attention. Draco is more than happy for the shift in attention. "Now that we're all here, I would like to introduce you to your newest coworker!"

Draco can tell that Big Dick is excited. His ruddy face is shining with a thin sheen of sweat, not usually seen this early in the day. His excitement has sparked an interest within the team. Jamie actually looks up. He is still wearing a bored expression, but for Jamie, that's rapt attention. Even Joe and Luca stop talking and look over at Big Dick.

"Pansy Parkinson!" He pushes Pansy out in front of the crowd from where she had been standing behind him, concealed somewhat by his bulk. Pansy gives the group a quick wave and then stands to the side.

With Pansy's introduction out of the way, Big Dick goes on to the rest of the announcements, and Draco mostly tunes him out. Something to do with them expecting a continued stream Hogwarts students. He sidles up to Pansy.

"Hi," he whispers.

"Hello."

"Are you excited to work on this stellar team?"

"I'm sure it will be delightful." Draco snorts in laughter.

"I would avoid Joe and Luca if you know what's good for you."

"You think I can't handle them?" Pansy asks in a tone that suggests she takes this as a challenge.

"Oh, you could probably curse them from here to Wednesday with your eyes closed and your hands tied behind your back, but you can't do that _here_."

"Are you implying that I don't know how an undercover assignment works?"

"Um," Draco says. Pansy is staring daggers at him. After glaring for long enough that she is certain that he is uncomfortable, Pansy rolls her eyes.

"Whatever," she says. "Anything in the paper this morning?" He shakes his head. "Good. Let me know if anything comes up." She moves a step away from him and goes back to listening to Big Dick, so Draco has nothing else to do but the same.

"And lastly," Big Dick says. "I'm sure you have seen our Draco on the cover of Witch Weekly." All eyes turn to Draco. He gives them all an awkward wave and then rolls his eyes at the enthusiastic thumbs up that Joe is giving him. The grin on Joe's face is so wide that it is disturbing and while Joe is not the kind of person that Draco would think would be attracted to Harry, he is also quite sure that Joe would fuck a sausage roll if there were no other options.

"So be on the watch for any gossip magazine witches." As Draco watches, Luca nudges Joe and quite obviously mouths 'gossip witches' at him. They bounce excitedly on the balls of their feet. He fights the urge to roll his eyes again. But then, Draco figures, if Joe and Luca are distracting said gossip witches, perhaps Draco himself can just get on with his job.

Big Dick wraps up his speech with a reminder that the Assistant Manager position is still open if anyone, and he really means anyone at this point, wants to apply, they should go ahead and do so. Then he shoos them off into the store. Draco immediately flees to the dark corner where the books on Herbology live, happy to get away from his coworkers' staring eyes. He doesn't notice Pansy behind him and so jumps when hears her voice in his ear,

"Your coworkers are dicks."

"Only some of them."

"Most of them."

"You only just met them," Draco protests.

"And yet, I still know that they're awful." Draco sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"Greg's not bad."

"I haven't seen him yet."

"He's here."

"I know." She is frowning for reasons that Draco doesn't understand. He wonders for the first time if Pansy has seen Greg since the war, and if not, what her feelings currently are towards him. He decides to head this off.

"He's changed, you know," he says quietly.

"Who, Goyle?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure he has," she says. "We all have."

Draco looks at his watch and watches as the seconds roll over from eight fifty nine to nine am. He hears the chime of the bell as Big Dick props the door open. They are not anticipating the rush that they had on the first of August, but there will be a steady trickle of regular patrons and Hogwarts families who decided to wait until later in the month to get their supplies. Draco is looking forward to being distracted by customers. He still feels a little unsettled from last night's mission and he wants the banal interactions of his day to numb those feelings away.

"Hi Pansy," a voice says and then Greg appears from around the nearest bookshelf. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Pansy tense for a moment before a smile breaks out on her face. If he hadn't been watching her, he would never have noticed her tension. As it is, Greg is oblivious to it. He reaches out his arms and pulls her into a hug.

"Long time, no see," he says. Pansy stands there for a moment, looking a bit like a deer caught in wandlights (but only because Draco is looking for it) before disentangles herself from his arms.

"Yeah, it's been what? Ten years?" she says.

"I haven't seen you since school, so, yes, it must be."

"The whole gang, back together," Greg says. He beams at Draco who gives him a small smile. No one mentions Crabbe. Of course they don't.

"Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson to the manager's office." Big Dick's voice booms around the store. Draco and Pansy look at each other. Draco shrugs.

"See you around," Greg calls after them as they set off across the store.

…

Behind the camouflage charm, the storefront to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop looks much the way it did at the end of the war. The windows are boarded up and the door hangs slightly off of its frame. Many people don't know why it has never been reopened, but Harry does.

In June of 1998, Harry, unmoored from responsibility after the defeat of Voldemort, had been aimlessly wandering down Diagon Alley when he had come across the boarded up shop. He remembered Florean from the summer before third year, when the kindly man had helped him with his History of Magic homework and had given him free ice cream. He'd heard that Florean had been killed by the Death Eaters, but it had taken seeing the shop like this before Florean's death had really hit home for Harry - and with it, the full impact of the war that he had just ended. For it was not just Florean who had died. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had been killed at the hands of the Death Eaters. And for what? It had all seemed so pointless.

And nothing had made the war feel more pointless than standing in front of the burnt out, boarded up ice cream shop. It was an _ice cream shop_ for god's sake.

Harry must have started crying, because the next thing he remembers is looking up, the building wavering through hot tears, and deciding to buy the place. He'd bought it to remind himself that unjust things could happen for the most pointless or mundane of reasons. And he had kept it to remind himself why he went to work every day: because he wanted to spend his life working against such wrongdoings.

But now it was time to fix the place up. The Parlour was just a few doors down from Flourish and Blotts, so Harry would be able to keep an eye on Draco while he worked there during the day. It was not that he didn't trust Pansy to do it, except, well, he didn't really trust Pansy to do it. After all, she had killed Oliver. Or let him die. Same difference in Harry's mind. And while Dempsey, Croaker and Hermione all seemed to trust her, Harry still did not.

When Harry had suggested reopening The Parlour to Hermione, she had seemed pleased with his ingenuity and had immediately approved both the funds and the team to do it.

"I don't know how long this assignment is going to be," she had said. "So having a permanent base close to Malfoy's work makes a lot of sense." Harry hadn't thought of turning it into a base, but once Hermione had said it, it made sense. They could check in with her from Diagon Alley as opposed to going halfway across the city each time. They could store potions equipment and magical weapons there, all the while having a stronghold a few doors down if every they needed it. It was perfect.

And, as a bonus, there would be ice cream.

…

"It's strange seeing her again," Greg says to Draco once Draco is freed from Big Dick's office and back in the main store. Big Dick had instructed Draco to train Pansy in the art of selling books. Pansy had nodded and smiled and agreed with Big Dick during the meeting, but once they had shut his office door behind them, she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she did not need training and walked off.

"What? Oh, yes. Very strange," Draco says.

"I wonder what spurred her to get a job here. I would have thought this was beneath her."

"You would have thought this was beneath _me_ a few years ago," Draco says. Greg lets out a guffaw but nods his agreement.

"True," he says. "And now look at us."

"The world's okay-est employees," Draco says.

"Speak for yourself."

"I didn't say we were bad."

"Who's bad?" Draco turns to see Luca jump out from behind a display of staff picked books.

"No one," Draco says quickly.

"Because we could be," Joe says, appearing behind Luca. "We've been good for like a whole week now."

"No," Draco says.

"Are you sure? I've been saying for a while now that we should make a book fort."

"No," Draco says again, this time more emphatically. Joe looks crestfallen. "No book fort _today_ ," he amends. Luca looks up at Draco with sad eyes. "Maybe once the Hogwarts term starts up again and we're less busy." Luca punches the air in triumph, his dark eyes shining.

"Right you are, boss," he says. He turns to Joe. "September second, mate. It's going to be epic." Draco slaps a hand to his forehead but Joe and Luca are already moving off and don't see him.

"Are you suggesting that you're not going to help?" Greg asks.

"What?"

"Because a book fort sounds like a lot of fun." Draco relents.

"It does," he agrees.

...

Pansy spends most of her morning avoiding Greg. While she will take Draco's word that he's changed, she is not overtly willing to have a conversation with him yet. She knows what Azkaban can do to people and she hasn't had enough sleep to deal with a broken version of the friend she once knew.

Instead, she talks to the other Flourish and Blotts employees. Or, more accurately, she talks to Emma who is the least awful of them. As the morning progresses, Pansy wonders how Draco puts up with it. The Draco she knew in school would have spent all of his time belittling his coworkers and winding them up, but he even seems to be friends with some of them.

But then, she thinks she remembers Draco mentioning that he's friends with Hannah Abbott now, so perhaps some of her Hufflepuff-ness has rubbed off on him. If so, Pansy thinks, it's for the better. Draco in school had been a prickly fellow, and often just a straight up dick.

Granted, it can't have been easy for him to have spent his entire school career both in the closet _and_ lusting after the one person he really couldn't have. At least his teenage self would be pleased with how that turned out - even if it is just a cover relationship.

Pansy can tell that Draco still likes Potter. She can see it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long on him or the way that he blushes (faintly - he's a Malfoy after all) when Potter brushes against him. Most of all she can see it in their Witch Weekly cover. She'd seen Draco make out with people at Hogwarts, and she can see that Draco is most definitely enjoying himself in that photo. She wonders if this crush makes the fake relationship easier or harder. Then her mind goes to the next logical place, of 'is their relationship actually for show or is there something going on there?' It had to be fake, right? There was no way that Potter would break protocol like that, not with an asset.

She makes a mental note to watch them together the next time she has the opportunity.

...

Around lunchtime, Draco looks up to hear a chorus of oohs, which permeates the entire store. He groans. That can only mean one thing. Harry is here.

He nervously pats down his hair and saunters (casually he hopes) into the main aisle where he finds said brunet, loitering by the Witch Weekly's, all of which depict the two of them passionately making out on the cover. (Draco had successfully snuck one into his locker earlier for later wanking sessions.)

"Hey gorgeous," Harry says, walking over to Draco and planting a firm kiss on his lips.

"Hello," Draco says once his mouth is no longer otherwise occupied.

"When do you get a lunch break?" Harry asks. Draco consults his watch.

"In about fifteen minutes," he says.

"Care to spend it with me?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Draco shrugs.

"Sure."

"Good, I brought sandwiches. I thought we could take a stroll down Diagon Alley." This sound like a bit of an odd idea, so Draco immediately thinks there must be something else behind it.

"Sounds lovely,' he says.

"Mr. Potter, excuse me." An excited Luca emerges from behind the Witch Weekly stand. Draco groans, but Harry turns around, a good natured smile already on his face.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

"Can you sign my copy of Witch Weekly?" Luca holds out a Weasley's Self Inking Quill and a copy of the magazine that Draco is almost one hundred percent sure has just come from the rack and that Luca has not paid for.

"Of course," Harry says. He takes the quill and the magazine and scrawls his signature over part of the background of their picture. He hands it back to Luca. Luca turns too Draco.

"Draco?" He proffers the magazine at him.

"No." Luca's face falls.

"Oh, go on," Harry says. "Why not?" Draco glowers at him, but Harry just smiles blithely back at him. With a grumble, he acquiesces, scribbling his name near Harry's. He resists adding a 'fuck you' to it. Barely. Luca punches the air, flushed with success, and runs off to show Joe. Draco glares at his retreating back. When he turns back to Harry, the brunet is laughing.

"What?" he snaps.

"Just your face."

"Luca tends to do that to me."

"He seems harmless."

"The operative word there being 'seems'." Harry laughs again and Draco checks his watch.

"I can probably duck out a few minutes early," he says. "My main responsibility for the day is to train Pansy, but I haven't seen much of her, and she seems perfectly capable of selling books and stocking shelves."

"Shall we then?" Harry asks, jerking his head towards the door. Draco nods and they make their way towards it. Harry slips his hand into Draco's and interlaces their fingers.

Leaving the store, Draco expects to turn right and is therefore surprised when Harry leads them the other way. A frown crosses his face while he tries to determine where they are going, but he soon figures it out when Harry stops outside of the newly refurbished Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

"Ta da," Harry says. He drops Draco's hand and gestures excitedly at the storefront.

...

"I thought we were having sandwiches," Draco says, staring up at the brightly colored awning.

"We are," Harry assures him. "But I also wanted to show you this."

It had taken a team of thirty Ministry architects and builders all morning to patch up the burnt out storefront and install the secret base below. Harry was very excited about it. He had bee adamant about the decorations. Florean Fortescue (RIP) was still featured prominently on the sign and the new exterior matched the old as well as Harry could remember it. They had even found Florean's original recipe book hidden in the false bottom of a drawer. Ministry (house) elves were currently whipping up the first batches in over ten years.

"It's the ice cream parlor," Draco says. "What about it?"

"Not just any ice cream parlor though," Harry says. "It's newly refurbished and reopened under new management."

"Is this your way of saying that you just opened an ice cream parlor?" Draco asks. His tone is bored. Harry sighs.

"Yes," he says. "I thought you might be more excited."

"I mean, I like ice cream," Draco says with a shrug.

"Anyway, let's go inside." Harry takes Draco's hand again and drags him inside. If Draco seems surprised that Harry is taking him to the back of the store, it doesn't show on his face. Harry briefly wonders if Draco is thinking they're going to the back of the store to make out. But then he banishes that thought from his mind. Harry ushers Draco through the door to the backroom, and then pushes him in front of the false set of shelves. Draco stares at it for a moment and then turns to Harry.

"What are we doing?" he asks.

"Welcome to the Cooler."

"We're in a fucking closet, Potter. And it's not even cold."

"Or is it the entrance to a secret Ministry base?" Harry makes jazz hands in excitement.

"It looks like a closet."

"You're really trying to take away my fun, aren't you?" Harry asks, putting his arms back down. A brief smirk crosses Draco's face before he recomposes his features.

"Perhaps."

Harry sighs. He walks over to the shelves and puts his hand against the hidden magical panel in the side of shelving unit. There is a small, happy sounding ding and the shelving unit moves backwards and to the side, revealing a staircase leading down.

"Very impressive," Draco drawls, sounding so much like his irritating teenage self that Harry feels a flash of annoyance.

"Come on," he says. He takes Draco by the arm and drags him through the hidden door and into the Cooler. They emerge at the top of a stairway, which they descend.

Downstairs is a large open plan office. There is a large blank wall on one side, in front of which sits a table with four chairs. Along another is a large window, which looks into a room filled with a variety of potions ingredients on shelves. It reminds Harry somewhat of Snape's old storerooms, but if they had been brightly lit and modern. In front of the window is another table on which sits a pair of cauldrons. In one corner of the room sits a sofa and a pair of armchairs arranged around a coffee table, because no one should be forced to sit at uncomfortable tables and chairs for their entire day. There is a door set into the far wall that leads to a series of corridors, off of which are a number of holding cells, along with a weapons storage room and various training rooms. There is even a small gym, which Parkinson will be delighted to find has a punching bag in it.

"What do you think?" Harry asks, turning to Draco. The blond, for his part, is staring at the room with wide eyes. He had clearly not expected this to be behind the secret door in the closet.

"I think it's," and here Draco pauses, still staring around, mouth agape, at the room. "It's cool," he says eventually. Harry slaps a hand to his forehead.

"I spent all morning planning this out, and you just make a joke about it." He scowls and starts to make his way down the stairs. Draco follows.

...

"I actually didn't mean to make the joke. I meant that this place is awesome." Draco looks around the room, eyes wide.

"Oh." Harry turns around. "Good. Because I spent all morning on it."

"All morning, huh?" Draco smirks at him.

"Now you're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Yes, Potter." Harry presses his lips into an irritated line and then gestures towards the table.

"Come on," he says. "Hermione's going to do our full debrief now."

"Shouldn't Pansy be here too?"

"Pansy _is_ here," Pansy's voice says. Draco whips around and sees that she is walking down the stairs. "Pansy had to figure out where this was on her own because someone didn't want to bring her personally."

"His cover is that he's dating me, Parkinson," Harry says. "Not that we're a threesome." Pansy shoots him a withering glare but joins them at the table. They sit and Harry taps his wand on a small box in the middle of the table. The box glows and then projects an image onto the blank wall in front of them. It is of an office. After a moment, Granger comes into view as she kneels down next to what is presumably the fireplace.

"Team," she says once she is comfortable. Draco isn't sure where his eyes should look in order to be polite - at the screen or at the box - but follows Pansy's lead in looking at the wall. "First of all, I would like to congratulate you again on a successful mission. Thanks to your work, Thiessen is in custody, as is his associate. And thanks to Malfoy's quick thinking, Heilgar Mottiç will make a full recovery and be no worse for wear." Draco feels his chest swell with pride. He'd done something good. Something great even. He'd saved a life.

As Hermione continues to talk, Draco's mind wanders. He is beginning to think that perhaps this whole Reliquary accident could be his chance to atone for his actions during the war. If he can help the Ministry catch new dark wizards and foil other dastardly plots, perhaps he will start to feel less guilty - both about the war and about reading that damn book. He wonders if that is why Oliver sent it to him. That seems unlikely, but, he realizes with a pang of sadness, they will never know why Oliver sent Draco the book.

Draco takes a deep breath and tries to concentrate on what Granger is saying.

"So we will let you know if our interrogators manage to get any information out of Thiessen about who had hired him and why. Did anyone have anything else to add?" Draco realizes he has missed most of the debrief. He hopes there was nothing important discussed. He doesn't think there had been, or they would likely have called his attention to it. He is the Reliquary after all.

He hadn't realized how important he could be until they were in the ballroom and he had spotted Thiessen's associate, Earles. Sure, Earles was a _known_ associate, but he doubted either Potter or Pansy would have known that. He was both excited to be important and dreading having to go on more missions. But both Potter and Pansy would be with him, so he was sure he would be fine.

"Malfoy," Granger's voice snaps him to attention again.

"What's that?"

"Did you see anything in the paper this morning?"

"No," he says. "I read it cover to cover and nothing sparked." Granger frowns at him and cocks her head to the side.

"Sparked?"

"Er, yes," he says. "That's what it feels like when I see something. Like it sparks a memory. So for lack of any other word, I've been calling it sparking."

"Interesting," Hermione makes a note on the parchment that she has in her lap. "Well, do let either Parkinson or Potter know if anything does," she pauses, "spark for you."

"Of course." She nods at them and then waves her wand and the image fades out.

"Now," Draco says. "I was promised sandwiches?"


	14. Draco Versus The Walk In Closet

Days turn into weeks, and soon Draco and P Squared (as he has taken to calling Potter and Parkinson) start to feel like a proper team. They fall into a rhythm. Draco reads the Prophet in the mornings and reports on anything that sparks. Most of the time P Squared follow up and leave Draco to cover for Pansy at Flourish and Blotts, but sometimes he gets to go along. He has now been to more formal functions in the past few weeks than he had in the previous few years.

He feels as though he is proving himself to be useful. He has spotted things that neither of the other two have and, of course, he's the only one who can spark while reading the newspaper.

He wonders if they are ever going to start training him in more defensive and offensive magic. He had thought he'd heard Tusneem or Croaker mention that when he was brought on board. But as he has heard nothing more on the subject, he is starting to wonder if he had imagined it.

Draco and Harry continue to dance around each other. Their public kisses are intense and, Draco thinks (hopes?), portend their true feelings for each other. He finds them both enjoyable and immensely frustrating.

But they stay professional. Though Harry stays over most nights, they keep their hands to themselves. It is torture. But at least Draco has that copy of Witch Weekly to get himself off to. (Not that he needs it. Images of their one night and subsequent shower are burned in his memory.) In fact, he has several different copies, as their (potentially excessive?) PDA often makes the gossip pages.

He has grown used to Harry's presence in their house. He no longer starts in surprise when he wakes up to the sight of tousled black hair on the pillow next to him. But it hasn't gotten any easier. If anything, it's gotten harder. He wants more than anything to thread his hands through Harry's hair and press their faces together in a place that's not just where the gossip witches can spot them. But he can't, because that would make it real. And it's not - no matter how much it feels that way when they are in public.

Draco has thought a lot over the last month about the fact that Harry and Oliver had been lovers. From what he has gleaned from Harry's infrequent comments on the subject, they had been partners for years before finally becoming a couple just a few months before Oliver was killed. ("Not that that makes it any easier," Harry'd said.) Draco is still not sure how it makes him feel. He and Oliver hadn't been together in _years_ but Draco still feels weirdly possessive of him. Or, at least, he did.

The fact that Oliver is dead still surprises Draco from time to time. In his mind's eye, he can see Oliver laughing; Oliver astride his broom; Oliver astride him… He tries not to let his mind go too far down the Oliver tunnel as it too often ends with Draco feeling abjectly miserable. At least he has the hazy images of Harry astride him to counteract the images of Oliver. Although, those images come with their own pang of sadness - though it is often sadness tempered with intense make out sessions. He's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Perhaps the hardest part of it all is the fact that he has no one to talk about this to. He can't talk to Greg, because Greg thinks he and Harry are really dating. Same goes for Hannah and Ernie and every one of his other non-Ministry friends. And he can't talk to Pansy about it because he's not supposed to feel this way about his handler. Not that he could help it if he tried. And fuck knows he's tried.

So he does what he has always done during difficult emotional periods, and throws himself into work.

He spends his spare time at Flourish and Blotts pulling various defensive magic books off of the shelves and secreting them into his locker to read in his breaks. He practices trip jinxes on Luca and Joe, who are so accident prone that they do not notice. He takes advantage of the Ministry training rooms at the Cooler during his lunches, throwing up shields as the spell dummies hurl hexes at him. His after work runs get longer, though he now does them in the gym in the Cooler, rather than outside the way he had before. Harry had insisted for his safety, but had offered to run with him if he did want to run outside. So far Draco hasn't taken him up on this offer. He's not sure he wants to suffer the indignity of being slower than Potter on foot. (All those Quidditch losses still sting.)

He even fills out the paperwork for the Assistant Manager position that Big Dick keeps droning on about. He doesn't particularly want it, but if he's going to have more flexibility with his timetable and more of an excuse to stay at the store for his cover, it's something he needs to do.

It is nearing the start of the Hogwarts school year, which means Luca and Joe have stepped up their planning for their book fort. Draco is now slightly concerned about it, as it has steadily grown in scope as the month of August has gone on. Draco wishes they would show this kind of enthusiasm when planning book promotions, but knowing them, they would promote books about psychedelic plants or something similarly inappropriate.

However, he has not tried to stop them. (He has in fact agreed to help with some of the stabilizing spells.) He just hopes that it does not disrupt the store too much. He thinks he will try to stay out of it as much as possible so that if it goes wrong, it won't reflect poorly on his Assistant Manager application.

But that is still two days away and he has a weekend to go before that.

Or, he is supposed to.

Big Dick pulls Draco to the side as he is leaving Flourish and Blotts on August thirtieth.

"Draco," he says. "I hate to do this to you on your weekend, but I need to you to come in tomorrow." Draco's heart sinks, but he keeps his face impassive.

"As you wish," he says.

"It's just that it's the last day before the Hogwarts term, and I am expecting a bit of a rush. You know how it goes - last minute supply runs." Draco nods. His family, of course, were never so disorganized, but he understands that it can happen.

"I will be here, sir," Draco says.

"That's my lad," Big Dick says, clapping him on the shoulder. Draco forces a smile, then nods at Big Dick and walks away. He meets Greg in the locker room and scowls as he changes into his running clothes. If today isn't the start of his weekend, he might as well go for a run before heading home.

"You're not coming to the pub?" Greg asks. Draco shakes his head and explains that Big Dick needs him to come in tomorrow. "Tough luck, mate. I'll let Harry know you'll be late."

Harry and Greg had become fast friends in the past month and Draco isn't sure how he feels about this. Sure, it is great that his fake boyfriend and his roommate get along, but what will happen if they ever get the Reliquary out of his head or they don't need him anymore? Will they fake break up? And will he still have to see Potter because now he and Greg are friends? It is all so complicated. And when things are complicated, all Draco wants to do is run away from them.

And so he makes his way over to Florean Fortescue's and lets himself in through the employee entrance in the back. No one is around and so he runs and runs on the treadmill until his feet are numb and his lungs are burning. Then he showers and joins Greg and Harry at the Cauldron.

Harry has become a fixture at the Cauldron on weekend nights. Draco too, but that is nothing new. It has become such a regular thing that Hannah now just directs them straight to the VIP room when they walk in so that she doesn't have to deal with the gossip witches who have quickly realized that this is Harry's new routine. (Greg thinks this is great. He loves being a VIP.)

Indeed, when Draco enters, Hannah immediately points to the backroom. Draco rolls his eyes but smiles at her. He spots the gaggle of press at a table near the VIP door and pointedly ignores them as he walks by. He wonders if Harry has seen them and if he will therefore insist that they go get drinks at the bar "like regular people" so that they can be seen with Harry's hand in the back pocket of Draco's trousers or some such thing. It's not that Draco minds these extracurricular activities per say, but sometimes he wonders if Harry is trying too hard. Or if Harry is looking for any excuse for intimacy.

Harry spots him as soon as he walks into the room and his face lights up, the way it always does when Draco walks into a room that Harry is in. He tries not to feel too pleased when this happens as he's (mostly) sure it's all for show. But a thrill goes through the pit of his stomach nonetheless.

"Oh good," Harry says, jumping up from behind the table. "You're here." Draco leans in and Harry kisses him quickly on the cheek. "I'm glad you finally made it." Harry's eyes are sparkling in excitement and Draco has to suppress a smile at his enthusiasm. He glances over at Greg, but his friend's expression stays neutral.

"I don't know about finally," Draco says, looking at his watch. "I was only gone for an hour." Harry waves his comment away.

"I'm buying a house," he says. Draco blinks at him.

"Another one?" Harry waves that comment away too.

"I'm going to sell that one," he says. Then he stares at Draco in a way that makes Draco think he is trying to convey something, but whatever it is, it is lost on the blond. He nods to move the conversation along. "The new one is much closer. Just a few streets over from here actually." At this, Draco's eyebrows lift in surprise. "It's technically still Muggle London, but it's much closer than Chelsea."

"But I thought you liked living in Chelsea," Draco says. Harry pulls a face.

"I did," he allows. "But what with the ice cream parlor, and everything, I wanted to be closer to here." Which Draco reads as closer to him, so that he can keep even more of an eye on him. Like he doesn't already basically live in Draco's house. But Potter's business is Potter's business and if he wants to buy a new house, that is his prerogative.

"Well congratulations then," Draco says, allowing a small smile to cross his face.

"And since it's so much closer," Harry continues. "I was thinking you might, uh," Harry pauses, and blushes. "Stay over more."

Draco lifts an eyebrow at him. They never stay at Harry's house. Harry himself rarely goes there. He makes excuses like 'but this is closer to both our workplaces' and 'but most of my things are here now', but Draco suspects it is because the house reminds him of Oliver, even if Wood's tenure there had been brief. Draco can't blame him. It had been months before he hadn't felt lonely in his own bedroom.

But buying an entirely new house seems like a very expensive way of fixing the problem. But then, Potter isn't lacking for money.

"Only if I can have my own drawer," he says. "I'm not bringing things back and forth."

"You can have two drawers," Harry says.

"Deal." Harry grins.

"Good, now let's go get a drink." He stands. "Greg, d'you want anything?" _Ah yes_ , Draco thinks. _Time for their public display of affection_. But his stomach still flips over in a pleasant manner as Harry threads their fingers together. And Circe does his wish this were real.

...

"Mmph, where are you going?" Harry asks, squinting up at Draco in the early morning light.

"Big Dick has me pulling an extra shift today," Draco whispers. "Go back to sleep." Harry frowns at him, but his green eyes are all but closed.

"Is Pansy going to be there?"

"Probably not, but I'll be fine. Go back to sleep." Draco tiptoes out of the room as Harry's eyes flutter closed again.

...

While it is not as busy at August 1st, August 31st is certainly more busy than a normal Flourish and Blotts day. Even Big Dick is out on the floor, helping customers find what they're looking for. Draco finds himself behind the till for most of the morning, which means it all but flies by as family after family buys stack after stack of books. Jamie works the register next to him, and they start a good natured competition of who can move the queue along more quickly. Draco wins, but only barely as Jamie actually seems to be trying today. Draco thinks it is a nice change.

Draco reads _A Compendium of Practical Defensive Magic_ while he eats his lunch, and then works the floor for the afternoon. Before he knows it, it is an hour from closing time.

The volume of patrons has drastically dropped by this point, so Draco spends his time restocking some of the shelves. He is just placing _Divination for Fun and Profit_ in its place, when he catches sight of the man walking through the door.

And he sparks.

The man is an unnamed suspected rare book thief, which explains why he has come in to Flourish and Blotts. (Not that criminals don't buy books, just that no one else has wandered into Flourish and Blotts and sparked the Reliquary before.)

Draco's mind races with relevant facts about the man. He's 1.83m tall with a mostly nondescript face. Mousy brown hair, brown eyes. He allegedly favors books written in the twelfth century, particularly first editions. He usually targets elderly witches, flattering them until they let him into their home. At which point, he is suspected of altering the security wards on the house and sneaking back at the dead of night for his thievery. He has never been caught, but the Ministry believes his face to look like the man who entered the store. Or, at the very least, the Reliquary thinks this is the man, from a composite of witness pictures.

Draco takes a deep breath. He knows he should contact at least one of P Squared, but he feels like he might be able to manage this on his own. He watches the man as he walks around the store, and then decides it would be best to at least _tell_ Potter something is up.

He sends a quick message on his watch, all the while watching the man out of the corner of his eye. The man has stopped in front of their rare book collection, which is behind a complicated mesh of spells that only Big Dick can undo. Draco shoves another book onto its shelf. As he does, he realizes, he should try to get an image of the man's face, so that even if he leaves, they will have a reference. He takes a deep breath, straightens his robes, taps his wand briefly to his temple to activate a recording spell and walks up to the man.

"Hello sir," he says. "Is there anything I can help you with?" The man turns and his eyes rake Draco's frame. His mouth curls into a small sneer.

"I don't believe so," he says. "You're not the manager."

"I could get him for you," Draco offers, squashing down any feelings of indignation that he has. _The customer is always right_ , _even if they're a dick_.

"If you would," the man says and turns back to the display. Draco obliges, smile plastered to his face, and then watches from a distance as Big Dick unlocks the wards. The recording spell catches the whole thing, but in the end, the man does nothing, merely looks at the books with Big Dick and then leaves.

Harry passes him on his way out. And then Draco feels ridiculous, because he has now called Harry over to Flourish and Blotts for no reason.

"What's up?" Harry asks as he draws close to Draco. Draco shakes his head.

"False alarm," he says. He taps his temple again with his wand and the recording spell ends. Draco waves his wand twice and then points it at the ceiling. From there, he knows, that the recording will go to the Cooler, where it will be stored in a Ministry penseive until someone cares to look at it. It feels like a waste, but it is protocol to send it either way.

"Well then, when are you off?" Harry asks instead. Draco pockets his wand again and checks his watch.

"Half an hour."

"Can I stay with you til then?"

"Only if you don't get in the way."

This is a dance they have done before. Harry arrives at Flourish and Blotts before the end of Draco's shift and Draco tries to stock shelves while Harry tries to distract him in various ways since they are in public. And when they are in public, Harry seemingly can't keep his hands off of Draco. Occasionally, Witch Weekly, or some other such magazine, manages to get a picture of them through the store windows. Joe and Luca get excited when this happens and then spend the next few days tailing Draco around the store, hoping to make it into a picture themselves.

Draco walks back to the cart of books he was shelving and continues where he had left off when the Book Thief had entered the store. _Correction_ , he thinks to himself. _Alleged book thief_. He picks up a book and finds its place on the shelf, then moves the cart on.

As he does, he feels Harry walk up behind him, so he skips out of Harry's grasp, a smirk on his face, and shelves the next book.

"Tease," Harry mutters.

"I'm at work, Potter," Draco says, pulling the cart away as Harry tries again to wrap his arms around Draco's waist.

"What if these books magically shelved themselves?" Harry asks, pulling out his wand.

"You know there's a reason we do it by hand," Draco admonishes. The reason being that some of the books react poorly to magic. Poorly being the polite way of saying that some of the books explode, fly away, change colors, catch fire, turn into animals, vanish, etc when exposed to magic.

"Fine," Harry grumbles. Then he lunges at Draco and pins him against one of the bookshelves. Draco can't help it. A tiny, pleased grin flits across his face. It's such a small grin, he imagines that you would have to be looking really hard to catch it. But Harry does. The brunet's mouth quirks up at the corner too. So quickly, Draco almost misses it before Harry's lips press against his. And not for the first time, Draco thinks that there might be something real between them. He even pretends it for a moment as Harry's tongue slides over his bottom lip. He delights in the idea of it for a whole three seconds of kissing before he pushes Harry away and reprimands him.

"So I put the deposit down on that house," Harry says, following Draco as he finishes up with his cart of books.

"Oh?"

"Yes, if everything goes to plan, I will move in in about a month." When Draco doesn't say anything, Harry continues. "Did you want to come and see it?"

"It's your house, Potter," Draco says. "It makes no difference to me." Draco glances back and sees that Harry looks briefly crestfallen before his face smooths itself out again. And Draco relents. "Unless," he says, "you want a proper eye to look at the place. You know, like someone who had single handedly helped Hannah Abbott fix up the Leaky Cauldron." Harry gives him a grateful smile.

"Yes, exactly," Harry says. Then he grabs Draco's hand and pulls him into another kiss. And Draco's heart aches, wishing it were real.

...

It is all Harry can do to stay professional. The more time that he spends with Draco - and he spends a damn lot of time with Draco - the more he likes him. And the more he likes him in a way that is not allowed in a professional setting. Draco is his asset for godssake. He's not supposed to fall in love with him. But Harry fears that is what is happening.

It is different than it was with Oliver. Sure, he and Oliver had been good together. They had cared for each other. But there hadn't been the same kind of depth of feeling that Harry is developing for Draco.

But is Harry altogether surprised? Not really. He's been obsessed with Draco Malfoy in some form or another since he was fourteen.

So Harry takes every opportunity he can to be physically affectionate in public. Since in public is the only place where he can act on his feelings while being hidden behind Draco's cover.

Sometimes he wonders if Draco suspects how he feels, and sometimes he wonders if Draco returns the affection - the blond certainly seems enthusiastic - but he doesn't dare ask. Because it wouldn't change anything even if he did. But often, when they are wrapped in each other's arms or feverishly kissing against a bookcase, it feels like there's no way that their relationship is not going there. Even if it shouldn't.

...

"What do you think?" Harry asks, gesturing up at the tall building before them.

"It's a house," Draco says, doing his best to sound bored and not jealous. Because it's a nice house. Probably twice the size of Draco's. Harry frowns at him. "It's a nice house," Draco amends. He is not sure why Harry cares so much about his opinion on this damn piece of real estate, but he does.

"Let's go inside."

And so Draco follows him into the cavernous entrance hall. Draco looks around appreciatively. It reminds him much more of the Manor than Potter's previous house. But it's not as ostentatious as the Manor, and Draco likes that about it.

"Don't you also own the old Black house?" Draco asks as they make their way over to what is presumably some sort of sitting room - probably because the room is devoid of furniture, save for some built in bookshelves surrounding a fireplace. There is a large bay window looking out onto the street, and a connecting door to what might be a dining room on the opposite wall.

"Uh, yes," Harry says. "But I never go there. The house elf hates me." Draco thinks back to when he was a child, visiting his Great Aunt Walburga with his mother. He can't recall the house elf, but then, Draco at that age wouldn't have paid any attention to house elves.

"But he's your house elf?" Draco asks.

"Yes." Harry looks uncomfortable.

"And you never get him to clean your other house?"

"He's old," Harry says. "And he hates me."

"So? He's a house elf."

"I think you and I may have different ideas about house elves," Harry says quietly. He turns and walks into the maybe dining room. Draco sighs and follows.

"You know," he says. "The elf is probably sad about having nothing to do. That's probably why he hates you." Harry turns suddenly to face Draco.

"Can we not talk about Kreacher?" he snaps. Draco puts his hands up in surrender.

"I'm just saying, because you didn't grow up with house elves." But he trails off and says no more.

"I know a lot more about house elves than you think," Harry says. And his tone says this is the end of the discussion. Draco swallows anything else he was thinking about saying and instead looks around the room. Without furniture, it's hard to tell what it will be like. But it is large and the walls are painted a nice Gryffindor red. He is about to remark on this to Harry, when he notices that the brunet is staring at a single spot on the floor, and he looks almost as if he is about to cry.

Without thinking about it, he reaches out and puts a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry flinches slightly but does not pull away.

"Are you okay?" Draco asks. Harry takes a deep breath and gives a small nod. "No you're not." Draco pulls Harry into a hug and the other man slumps into his embrace.

"Sorry," Harry whispers.

"Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I just." Harry sniffs. "It's all just so hard."

"I know," Draco says. He starts stroking the back of Harry's head, his hand smoothing down Harry's unruly hair. He doesn't know what Harry is talking about, but he doesn't need to.

"But I shouldn't be taking this out on you."

"You're not taking anything out on me," Draco says. He guides Harry out of the maybe dining room and back into the entrance hall. He sits him down on the stairs that take up the left side of the hall. He sits next to him and wraps an arm around Harry'a shoulder. Harry leans into him and Draco rests his chin on the top of Harry's head.

"I shouldn't have said anything about your house elf," Draco says into a tangle.

"It's not about Kreacher," Harry snuffles. "It's," and here Harry pauses for a long time, seemingly in order to collect the words he wants to say. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been to be me?" But somehow it doesn't sound whiny when he says it. It just sounds so terribly, desperately sad.

"No," Draco whispers. "I don't imagine that I do." He thinks back to Harry's outburst at the sushi place the day P Squared had taken him to see Tusneem. So many people that he loved had died. And the worst part was, Draco knew he was partly responsible for some of those deaths. Hell, he was fully responsible for Dumbledore, even if he didn't say the final spell that sent the headmaster over the side of the Astronomy Tower.

"I'm so sorry for everything," Draco whispers. Without thinking, he kisses the top of Harry's head. But Harry doesn't seem to notice.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry says.

"Dumbledore."

"Knew what was coming and was already dying. He would have died with or without you."

"Really?"

"Were you not listening during your trial?" Harry sits up and looks Draco in the eye. Harry's eyes are rimmed with red.

"Uh."

"I testified about this."

"Those weren't," Draco starts to say but then he stops. He bites his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth for a moment. This is more of a discussion than he wants to have sitting on the stairs of Potter's new house, but as he doesn't have the luxury of choosing where they talk about this, he plows on. "Those weren't great days for me. I don't remember much of them. I think I blocked out a lot of what was happening." Harry nods.

"But this isn't about me right now," Draco says. "You're the one who is upset. I should be comforting you, not the other way around."

"You're allowed to be sad about things too," Harry says. "I don't have the monopoly on shitty things happening to me."

"I'm aware," Draco says. "But right now, you get to have the monopoly on crying and feeling sorry for yourself." He pulls Harry back down until his head his resting on Draco's shoulder again.

They stay that way for a long time. Long enough that Draco is surprised that Harry doesn't get a crick in his neck. (Or maybe he does, but doesn't say anything about it.) Finally, Harry whispers,

"Thank you," and sits up. He wipes the residual tears off of his face and then slaps his palms down on his thighs.

"Shall we continue with the tour then?" He stands and pulls Draco to his feet. "Where were we? Oh, yes, the kitchen."

...

The house is impressive and nicely designed, but it isn't until they get to the master bedroom that Draco gets truly envious.

"So, this is the closet," Harry says, walking into a small _room_ off of the bedroom. Draco's eyes go wide as he looks around at the built in shelves. You could fit all of Draco's closet in here and still have over half of the space empty. And this is even _after_ all of Draco's new clothes from Bertie. Harry must see Draco's amazement, because he chuckles. "Do you like it?" he asks.

"Like it? Potter it's amazing. I wish I had one of these."

"Then why don't you?" Harry asks. "You're a wizard, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'm no good with architectural magic. In case you couldn't tell, my house is exactly as I bought it, because I don't trust myself to add anything in case it collapses in the middle of the night."

"Fair point."

"And hiring someone to do it for me is expensive." Unsaid is the fact that the Malfoy assets have been frozen since the war and Draco lives off of his Flourish and Blott's and Ministry salaries. (The Ministry salary had been disappointingly small once Draco had started to receive it, but then he isn't an agent. He is just the mostly useless bloke with all the secrets in his head.)

"Well," Harry says, looking around the closet. "This half is yours."

"That's more than a drawer," Draco says. Harry shrugs.

"If you want it, you should have it," he says.

"You know I'm not moving in with you, right?" Draco isn't sure if he even would if Potter asked. Not that he would ask.

"Of course," Harry says. "But should you want to keep things here, that half is yours." He turns and walks back into the bedroom. Draco takes a deep breath, aware that they have just skirted around admitting there might be something more to their fake relationship (again), and follows Harry back into the master bedroom.

"And of course," Harry continues. "This sink is yours." He points to one of the two sinks in the en-suite bathroom. "Should you need it."

...

Harry isn't sure why he's setting aside space for Draco in his new house. Draco has his own house. Indeed, a lot of Harry's things are currently there. But he's said it now. And he can't take it back even if he wanted to, which he doesn't.

Harry has stopped questioning his emotions when it comes to Draco Malfoy. He knows there is no point in even trying. Draco has captured a part of his heart, whether he knows it or not, and whether Harry is ever allowed to act on it or not, and that's that.

Of course, this means that for any mission they bring Draco along to, Harry has his heart in his mouth, worrying for Draco's safety. When Draco had sent him the message about the potential book thief this afternoon, Harry had felt like he had nearly had a heart attack. He had been in a meeting with Croaker and had all but run out of the Ministry to get to the apparation spot. His heart hadn't stopped hammering until he had seen Draco standing by one of the shelves and it had taken all of his self restraint not to throw his arms around the man as he walked up to him. (Of course, he had taken the first natural opportunity to shove Draco against a bookshelf and kiss him silly).

It's not that he thinks Draco can't handle himself. He knows Draco is a perfectly competent wizard from their time at Hogwarts. But bad things can happen to the most competent of people. And doesn't Harry know it.

* * *

We're in the midst of moving hell right now, so all comments and favorites are appreciated to inspire me to write, not pack ;)


	15. Draco Versus the Book Fort

"So d'you think Harry's going to ask you to move in with him?" Greg asks once Draco arrives at home. Harry had absconded to his old house after dropping Draco at his doorstep, claiming that he needed to pick up some clean clothes, and so Draco is alone with Greg.

"I don't think so," Draco says.

"Shame. It would be nice to have this place to myself." Draco snorts.

"That's presumptuous."

"Well you're not going to sell it, are you?"

"No."

"And you wouldn't kick me out if I were paying rent, would you?"

"No."

"Ergo: place to myself." Greg grins up at him, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Draco rolls his eyes and plops himself down on the sofa. He starts to entertain the question of whether or not he would move in with Potter if he asked before quickly realizing Potter never will.

...

Draco spends his one day off sleeping, doing laundry and other such chores that come from not having a house elf. Greg pulls his weight and cleans the kitchen until it is gleaming. Harry flits in and out of the house, never quite staying long enough to hear Draco complain about their lack of elf-ly help.

And before he knows it, September 2nd is here and it's time to build the epic book fort.

Greg is so excited about the prank that he wakes up early and cooks them a full English breakfast - for "stamina". Draco is distracted as he flips through The Prophet, but does notice one article about one Timothy Backstrom, who the Reliquary informs him is an illegal salamander smuggler. When Harry joins them in the kitchen for a quick mug of coffee before work, Draco tells him about Backstrom in an undertone while Greg washes the dishes.

"Good luck," Harry says as they part outside of the bookstore. He leans in and kisses Draco quickly on the cheek. "See you in a bit." He winks. Harry has his own role to play in their scheme. He is to provide the edible distraction that will keep Big Dick out of the way while the fort is constructed. Draco grins at him as he walks away and then schools his face into the mask of indifference that he wore so often at school, so as not to give anything away to the manager.

Phase One of the Plan goes off without a hitch. Around nine ten, Harry stops by "unannounced" to see Draco. He bribes Big Dick using a triple chocolate and banana sundae to let him spend time with his boyfriend during work hours. Once Big Dick's office door is closed, Harry gives Draco a nod and the team jumps into Phase Two.

Luca directs them like a choir master, waving his wand and occasionally calling out instructions. They have to stack most of the books by hand, due to the temperamental nature of the books, but they have been practicing so they go quite quickly. Draco applies his stabilizing spells to the books on the bottoms of the stacks and slowly but surely, a tower arises in the middle of the store.

The Final Phase involves Emma, Nathalie, Greg and Joe standing precariously on shelves holding an intricate roof of Flourish and Blotts banners while Luca floats above them on a broomstick, attaching the "roof" to the ceiling.

The whole process takes about twenty minutes, during which time Draco is relieved to find that not a single patron enters the store. Once it is done, they stand back and admire their handiwork. Luca looks around at them all, tears shining in his eyes.

"It's beautiful," he whispers. He's not wrong. This, Draco thinks, is less of a prank and more of a promotion for the store. But he's not about to tell Joe and Luca that.

"What," comes an irritated voice from the front of the store. "The hell is this?" Draco turns around to see Jamie standing, hands on hips, staring up at their creation.

"A book fort," Luca says proudly. Jamie frowns at it and shakes his head.

"I don't think Big Dick will be pleased about this," he says and Luca's face falls. Draco takes Jamie gently by the arm and leads him away from the group.

"We can dismantle this and be back up and running in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes? Do you know what ten minutes means in Flourish and Blotts galleons?" Jamie asks. Draco frowns at him.

"I didn't realize we had our own currency," he says. Jamie narrows his eyes. "Look. I'm sorry about all the commotion. You know how Joe and Luca are." But Jamie just shakes his head. Then he puts a hand on Draco's shoulder and looks at him earnestly.

"We are not stock boys anymore, Draco. We are leaders. Flourish and Blotts leaders. And you wonder why Big Dick wants me for assistant manager?" Jamie crosses his arms and sticks out his chest.

"You've applied?"

"Of course." This explains why Jamie was so efficient behind the till the other day. Draco wonders where this newfound interest in being good at his job came from. Probably from the prospect of a pay raise.

"Well," Draco says. "Good luck then. May the best person get the position." He reaches out to shake Jamie's hand, but Jamie ignores him and walks away in the direction of Big Dick's office. Draco gnaws on his lip for a moment and then returns to the rest of the group.

"Well?" Luca asks. Draco shrugs.

"Let's see what Big Dick says." Because he suspects that actually Big Dick might think it looks good. Indeed, several people have walked into the store since he took Jamie aside and are now looking at the tower of books appreciatively. He spots Harry among the onlookers and sidles over to him.

"Hi," he says, nudging Harry gently to get his attention. Harry turns and smiles at him. "What are you still doing here?"

"I gave Big Dick a sundae so that I could spend time with you," Harry says. "So here I am, spending time with you. I just kept out of the way while you were working."

"For once, " Draco mutters. Harry's smile turns into a smirk and Draco feels a hand slide across his lower back and wrap around his waist. Without thinking, he leans into Harry, savoring their closeness. But at the same time, his heart aches with sadness. These moments are so bittersweet. He hates feeling so close but knowing that none of it is real.

He is distracted from these feelings however when Big Dick walks into the room. Or, more accurately, walks into the room and then stops in his tracks, staring up at the tower of books. Jamie stands behind him, looking smug. The prick. Draco has never had much of an opinion about Jamie, but he has never really liked the man either and the smirk on Jamie's face pushes him from indifference to active dislike. Draco quickly disentangles himself from Harry and takes a step towards Big Dick.

"What?" Big Dick starts to ask, gesturing dumbly at the tower of books. And that is when he spots the interested patrons who are peering at the book fort in delight. Joe has ignored everything that has been going on and is continuing to add to the fort, building out rooms from the main tower. He looks up at a nearby patron and smiles at them.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asks, still sitting on the floor. The woman shakes her head and moves to one of the aisles where she starts perusing. Harry takes the opportunity to loudly say how innovative the book fort is, particularly because it highlights how books can be a shelter from real life when real life gets particularly tough. Because of course no one is going to call bullshit on the famous Harry Potter saying that.

"Yes," Big Dick says excitedly. "Exactly." He hurries over to Harry. "Would you mind if we put that on a sign?" Harry shrugs his consent and Big Dick pulls out his wand, conjuring up a sign even as Harry is still standing there.

"Books are a shelter from real life when real life gets tough. - Harry Potter," reads the sign. Big Dick affixes it to the front of the fort. Draco looks around for Jamie and finds the other man staring daggers at them. Draco leans into Harry again once Big Dick has moved away.

"Thanks," he whispers.

"Anytime."

...

Joe and Luca are quick to point out to Big Dick that Draco had been highly influential in the planning and construction of the book fort, which has now become a very popular attraction on Diagon Alley. While no one has run the numbers yet, the store is very clearly busier than a normal Tuesday and Big Dick is beaming. In particular, there has been an increase of interest in their fiction section, which was all but abandoned during the Hogwarts textbook rush during the summer. Also popular are the Witch Weekly's featuring Harry and Draco (and several people ask Draco to autograph them too).

Jamie sulks in the corner while Big Dick gushes praise over Draco. He all but storms out of the store when Big Dick decides there and then to make Draco the assistant manager, tapping Draco's work robes with his wand to add the managerial gold piping to the sleeves.

"This still doesn't mean that you can tell me what to do," Pansy says by way of congratulations. Draco just grins at her.

...

Draco is much less excited to be assistant manager at two am the next morning when he gets an urgent owl from Flourish and Blotts sent by their security wards stating that there has been a break in. He turns to shake Harry awake, but the brunet is already sitting up and blinking at him, clearing sleep from his eyes.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Break in at the bookstore."

"Do you think it's the person you spotted the other day?"

"Possibly. I've got to get over there to help," Draco says. "Merlin, this is like being a prefect again." He strides out of the room and over to his closet. He pulls out the first outfit he finds.

"I'm coming with you," Harry calls from the bedroom.

"Like hell you are. This is my job."

"Yes, and it's _my_ job to keep you safe." There is no arguing with Harry as he is already out of bed and pulling on trousers. Draco frowns and bites his lip but finally says,

"Fine." He pulls a jumper on and then, making sure he has his wand in his pocket, walks to the apparition spot on the landing. Harry joins him a moment later and takes his arm. They disappear with a pop and appear again in front of the store.

Flourish and Blotts is dark at this hour. Draco knows that the security wards are silent, merely alerting managers of any disturbances, so he motions for Harry to be quiet. They peer in through the windows. Sure enough, Draco catches sight of wand-light towards the back of the store, but his view is obstructed by the fort. He silently curses it and takes Harry's hand, dragging him towards the door.

He disables the alarm, the way that Big Dick had showed him earlier that day, and they creep inside. Harry holds up a hand for them to wait and Draco watches as he reaches a hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a confuso-bomb and a portable swamp. Makeshift tools for arresting whoever this is, should they need them. Draco nods. Harry opens their communication spell and whispers that he will go around and behind the person if Draco goes forward to cut off their escape. Draco nods again and they make their way quietly though the store.

As they reach the wand-light it becomes very clear that it is the alleged book thief that Draco had spotted earlier. Draco quickly activates his recording spell. The thief is oblivious to them as he is gently taking books out from behind Big Dick's wards and placing them into specially lined boxes. Draco thanks the fact that he lives close to work and could be here in a matter of minutes in order to catch the thief in the act. He is not sure where Big Dick lives, but the fact that he is not here yet indicates that it must be farther away.

He catches Harry's movements on the other side of the thief and raises his wand.

"Stupefy," he yells as Harry throws the confuso-bomb. Down in one.

...

"Why didn't you message me sooner?" Pansy grumbles as she claps magical handcuffs on the unconscious book thief.

"No time," Draco says and it's true. They had gone from bed to the shop in a matter of a few minutes.

"Well bloody good job anyway," she says. "Granger says they've been after this bloke for years." Draco can't help but smile. He had caught a notorious book thief and saved the store all in one day.

"Thanks," he says. "It's just a good thing that Potter happened to be staying over." Like he does every night, he thinks, but doesn't say.

"Mm," Pansy muses. "Lucky." She props the man up against a bookcase. "Are we ready to bring him around for questioning?" Draco nods. "Rennervate." The man blinks for a few moments and then seems to register where he is. His eyes dart around the store and Draco watches as he pales.

"I, Major Pansy Parkinson of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, am arresting you for attempted burglary. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on at the Wizengamot. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Will you please tell us your name?"

"No."

"Very well. We are going to take you to the Ministry now, where we will continue our questioning." She leans down and hauls the still unknown man to his feet and frogmarches him out of the store. Draco watches him go with satisfaction. Thanks to him (or, rather, thanks to the Reliquary), they have evidence of the man casing the store and they have the man himself. Even better - all of the books are still in the store, which is a particular relief when Big Dick bursts into the store.

"Draco!" he cries, running over to him. "What happened! The owl said there was a break in! Who are all these people? What is Harry Potter doing here?"

"Just helping out, sir," Harry says and then attempts to melt away into the scrum of people, but fails because Big Dick grabs his hand and shakes it heartily.

"What would we do without you?" he asks breathlessly.

"It was all Draco," Harry says.

"And modest too!"

"No," Harry says more slowly. "It really was all him. Draco deserves the credit. He knocked the man out. I just came along because I was curious as to where he was going." Big Dick turns to Draco and instead of taking his hand, pulls him into a bone crushing hug.

"Draco! My favorite employee! My faithful assistant manager! I don't think I have ever made a better decision than the one I did when I promoted you."

Draco leads Big Dick back to his office and makes him a cup of tea. It takes half an hour, but the man finally calms down. At that point, another member of the DMLEHS comes in and shows Big Dick a picture of the thief and asks him to recount showing the man the rare book collection a few days prior. Draco takes this opportunity to leave.

It is now four thirty in the morning and he has to get up for work in a few hours. He wonders, as he finds Harry in the throng of Ministry employees that have taken over the store, whether Big Dick might give him the day off, for having saved the store and all. But he doubts it.

Harry takes his hand and they walk out into the street. Draco is so tired that he slumps against Harry's shoulders as they walk. Harry wraps an arm gently around his waist and apparates them back to Draco's landing, where Draco all but falls straight back into bed.

He is half asleep when he feels Harry's lip brush his upturned cheek. He thinks he hears Harry whisper,

"Goodnight Draco," but then he falls fully asleep, and when he wakes, it is just a barely remembered dream.

...

Draco receives a hero's welcome when he arrives at Flourish and Blotts the next morning. He is about two hours late as he has slept through his alarm, but no one bats an eyelid at that. Even Jamie is reluctantly clapping.

"I was just doing my job," he says, waving away the applause.

"Was it scary?" asks Joe.

"Was there a fight?" asks Luca. Draco shakes his head and Luca's face falls.

"I just stunned him," Draco says. "He never even saw me."

"But you saved the rare books!" Joe exclaims. Draco is surprised. He didn't think Joe even knew they had a rare book section. Draco shrugs.

"I live nearby. The security owl didn't have far to go."

But as much as he tries to downplay it, the team remains in awe of him for the whole day. Even Greg seems impressed, though once they are alone, he admonishes Draco for not asking for his help.

"I was only two floors down. I could have helped."

"I panicked," Draco said truthfully. "I just apparated straight to the store. Harry only followed me because he's Harry bloody Potter and still feels like he needs to save the world." Greg nods sagely.

"And because he's in love with you," he says.

"He is not."

"Well, he's at the very least smitten with you," Greg says. And then in true Greg fashion, he walks away before Draco can protest any more.

...

Pansy gets lucky with an ID on the book thief that Draco had caught. When she takes his fingerprints, it turns out that he has a very old arrest for improper use of magic by a minor. His name is Nicholas Wise.

But he is still refusing to speak. He has not asked for a solicitor yet, and Pansy thinks this is because he does not realize that she knows who he is. She decides to keep this up her sleeve for a little while longer and then blindside him with it.

In the meantime she peppers him with incessant questions, none of which he even acknowledges. She studies him while she talks. He has a plain face, which must be why he has been so successful at avoiding capture thus far. The only adjective she can think of to describe him is bland. He has mousy brown hair, mousey brown eyes and a mousy demeanor. He is utterly forgettable. And yet Draco had managed to capture evidence of Wise in the bookstore days before, observing Big Dick undoing the security wards. She is amazed, as she always is, at the power of the Reliquary.

While she still curses the fact that it is Draco who read it and not her, he has proved himself to be a very capable and willing teammate. And, of course, since he has the Reliquary in his head, he is invaluable. He has already saved several missions by spotting something crucial at the last minute. All in all, Pansy supposes it could be worse.

Pansy sighs and looks at Wise over steepled fingers. She is tired of his reticence.

"Nicholas," she says and watches as the panic appears behind his eyes. "I don't know how you expect to get out of this. You were caught redhanded attempting to liberate Flourish and Blotts of some of their most valuable items. We have eye witness testimony that you went to the store days earlier to case the place."

"I would like my Wizengamot appointed solicitor, please," Wise says.

"You are also suspected in a string of home break-ins," Pansy continues, unperturbed. "I think if we test your magical signature, we will find that it matches one that was recorded at 403 Hahn Street on the fourth of November last year, and then again at a break-in at 83 Richter Street on the fourteenth of January." She continues to list Wise's suspected targets and watches as he grows more fidgety.

And she knows she has him.

It is another win for Draco, and a pretty big one at that. This is most definitely a conviction that they wouldn't have been able to get without the help of Draco and the Reliquary.

Again, she reflects on the fact that he has been helpful on many of the missions he has been dragged along to. Just the other day his Reliquary knowledge had helped them spot a pattern in stolen goods which had led to the arrest of a group of Muggle baiting thugs…

One of these days, they're really going to have to train him properly. She just hopes she isn't the one who has to do it. She's worried it will bring out the school-boy competitiveness he always had and Circe she doesn't want to deal with that again.

...

"You know what we haven't done in a while?" Harry says to Draco the next Friday night. They are alone in the VIP area of The Leaky Cauldron. Greg has gone to get the next round of drinks.

"Intercepted an international jewel heist?" Draco suggests. He has no idea what Potter was trying to get at.

"Well, yes," Harry says. "But that's not what I was referring to."

"Then no."

"We haven't gone on a date."

"Well, we're not dating," Draco says.

"I meant a cover date," Harry says tersely.

"We went to that dinner at the Brazilian ambassador's house just the other day." And they had defused a bomb. It had been a very successful evening.

"That wasn't a date," Harry protests. "That was a mission. I mean a date with just you and I and a nice meal that's paid for by the ministry."

"And, I assume, excessive PDA." Draco says before he can stop himself. He immediately bites his tongue.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asks, his tone sharp.

"Nothing," Draco says, shaking his head. "Forget I said it."

"Would you prefer if we didn't make out so much?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Nothing," Draco says. Harry stares at him, his hands on his hips. "Fine," he continues. "Just sometimes it seems like you're trying too hard to make our relationship look real. Who even kisses their significant other that much?" Harry's eyebrows lift briefly before he returns his expression to neutral.

"I'm sorry," he says a moment later. "That's just how I am in relationships."

"Oh, bullshit," Draco says. "You pretend like you wear your heart on your sleeve, but in reality you play your cards close to your chest. If this relationship were real, you wouldn't want anyone to know about it. "

"Sure, because you know me _so well_ ," Harry snaps.

"Yes, actually," Draco says. "I do." He stares back at Harry with the same level of fierceness and for a moment it feels like they are back at Hogwarts, arguing in the Great Hall over whatever petty insult they have thrown each other's way. Except now it's oh so much more personal. Because Draco realizes that he really _does_ know Harry.

He knows what makes him happy and he knows what makes him tick. He might not know all of Harry's hopes and dreams, but short of that, he feels as though they could go on a Muggle dating quiz show and he could easily tell people how Harry likes his tea (with milk and two sugars, the heathen), or how Harry's hair really just _is_ that messy and there's no apparent gel or potion that will fix it for very long. He knows that Harry's biggest fear is dementors and he knows that Harry would do anything for his friends or the people he loves. Including buying an entirely new house just to be closer to them. When he stops to think about it, he knows a damn lot about Harry.

And he knows he's right. If their relationship were real, Harry would keep it private.

Harry says nothing, just glares at Draco for a long moment before turning away. He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'you don't know me as well as you think you do,' but Harry is facing the other direction now and Draco can't be certain he heard anything.

"Fine," Draco snaps. "Let's go on a date. Take me to a lovely restaurant and then pretend to suck me off in the loo."

"Sounds good," Harry says, slowly turning back to look at Draco. His tone is nonchalant, but Draco thinks Potter's irritation is fading nonetheless.

"Great."

"You know, I don't _have_ to pretend," Harry says, after a moment, a devilish smile on his face. Draco's stomach flips as he briefly thrills at the thought. But it can't happen. They both know it can't happen.

"Yes, you do have to pretend, Potter," Draco snarls. "Because as I said before, we're not fucking dating." Harry shrugs.

"Just offering to do you a favor." Draco narrows his eyes. In his experience, favors didn't come without things asked in return. He doesn't know what Harry is playing at.

"I'm not that desperate, thanks," he says. Even though he is. Just the thought of Harry's lips around his cock has him half aroused. Fuck.

"Suit yourself," Harry says. "Though generally when someone offers me a free, no strings attached blowjob, I don't turn them down."

"And when has anyone done that to you?" Draco asks. His tone is withering.

"Uh, I'm Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived," Harry says, pointing to himself. "Loads of people have fallen on their knees in front of me." Draco feels a stab of jealousy go through him, though jealousy of what, he isn't quite sure.

"Fine," Draco says, making a snap, and possibly poor, decision. "I will go on a date with you, but only if you get down on your pretty little knees for me."

"Deal." The grin on Harry's face is positively filthy. What has Draco gotten himself into? He doesn't have time to find out, because at that point, Greg comes back, precariously carrying three pints and Draco jumps up to help him.


	16. Draco Versus the Club

What on earth had possessed Harry to offer Draco a blowjob is beyond him. He blames his own sexual frustration and the fact that he's already had a few beers. And while he won't necessarily get off to this, he does always enjoy making other people happy. (Perhaps he should have been a Hufflepuff.)

But he's got to now. Because he's a Gryffindor, and so he's true to his word.

And is he a tiny bit excited about it? Fuck yes he is. He has wanted to see Draco's orgasm face again since that time in the shower. He wants to have that kind of power over the blond again. The power to make him gasp and moan and to make his knees go weak. To make him cry out Harry's name as he comes. Oh Potter. Fuck, yes, Potter. He _dreams_ about doing that again. (Literally. It's a very good thing Harry's good with a wandless t _ergeo_.)

And somehow he's gotten Draco to agree to it.

But then, who _would_ turn down a free blowjob?

Of course this means that Harry has to plan a date, and planning a date for Draco Malfoy is not an easy task. Because in the back of his mind, Harry is somewhat thinking of this as a real date. After all, it _is_ going to end in sexual contact.

As he sips his beer, he stares at Draco, who is now in conversation with Greg. What would Draco like? He is surprised to figure out that he thinks he knows. He would want something private. He has spent so much time with Draco over the past month or so that he thinks he has a good idea of where to take Draco.

"Hey Draco," he says suddenly, interrupting Draco and Greg's conversation about their wish for a house elf.

"What?" Draco asks, slowly turning to face Harry.

"Do you want to see a muggle film with me tomorrow night?"

"What? And risk not getting caught by the gossip witches?" Draco asks. Greg frowns at Draco, clearly confused.

"Precisely."

"Yeah, alright."

"We can go to dinner and everything if you want."

"You know, there are better ways of asking your boyfriend on a night out," Draco grumbles.

"Are there? Do tell." Draco swats him on the arm and turns back to Greg.

"I wonder if Father will let us borrow one now. I think it might have been long enough since the last time we asked."

"Doubt it," Greg said listlessly.

"Honestly you two," Harry says. "Do you want me to see if Kreacher will come over? He's old, so I don't know how much help he'll be. He hates me, but he is _technically_ mine and he is _supposed_ to listen to me."

"Yes please," Draco says immediately and Harry wonders if this is a setup.

"Fine," he says. "I will talk to him."

"Thank you," Draco says. He leans over and kisses Harry quickly on the cheek.

...

Kreacher, perhaps in defiance of Harry's expectations, is thrilled by the prospect of cleaning Draco's house.

"Master Malfoy is a Black!" he cries happily. "He's a member of my mistress's family! Kreacher will happily assist any member of the Black family." Then he mutters something about Draco being better than the blood traitor Harry and Harry rolls his eyes at him, but ignores the muttering.

"When shall I tell him you will be there?" Harry asks.

"Immediately," Kreacher says. "Sir," he adds sullenly. "And Kreacher can stay as long as Master Draco wants."

"Why don't we start with once a month," Harry says. Kreacher scowls.

"Of course filthy blood traitor, half blood master doesn't want Kreacher to be happy. Horrible master is horrible." Harry puts his hands on his hips and glares down at Kreacher.

"How about once a week?"

"Oh thank you, kind master." Kreacher bows so low that his nose scrapes the floor and Harry fights to keep the revulsion that he feels from crossing his face.

"Stop that," he says. "Also when you go to Mr. Malfoy's house, I would like you to wear the new towel I got for you." Thus far, Kreacher had been resistant to wearing anything but his filthy loincloth. Kreacher crosses his arms and glares at Harry in defiance. "Mr. Malfoy would prefer a nice clean towel to your current attire." At once, Kreacher's demeanor changes. His arms unfold and his back straightens.

"Of course," he says. "Anything for Master Malfoy." Harry sighs. But at least it's progress. Now if only he could get that picture of Bellatrix out from Kreacher's lair. Perhaps he can talk to Draco about that.

...

Midway through work on Saturday, Draco realizes with a jolt that his "date" with Harry this evening is much more of a date than they usually go on. He was joking when he had said they were going to a place where they were unlikely to be spotted by the press, but it's true. They're going on a date in order to actually spend time with each other.

He is suddenly nervous, which he tells himself is ridiculous, because he saw Potter this morning when they woke up in the same bed. But it's a _date_. During which Harry's going to get down on his knees and - Draco stops the thought right there. He's nervous enough without the promise of sexual gratification. Why did he agree to Potter giving him a blowjob in the first place? Merlin, he feels like a third year Hufflepuff going to the Yule Ball.

But really, what is he going to wear? What does one wear on a date to watch a muggle film? He hasn't the faintest idea. Muggle clothes, presumably. Nice ones.

He mentally kicks himself. He needs to stop overthinking this. He spends time with Potter all the time. This won't be any different. _Except it will be_ says a little voice at the back of his head. He ignores it. Or, at the very least, he tries to ignore it.

...

"So what do you want to see?" Harry asks. It is evening and they are standing outside of the Muggle cinema closest to Harry's old house. Draco is bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, staring up at the front of the building where the movies are spelled out in large, black letters.

"I don't know," Draco says. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and looks down at his feet. "I figured you were going to decide. I don't know what any of these are about."

"Draco," Harry says as a thought suddenly strikes him. He turns to the blond. "Have you ever been to the cinema before?"

"Of course," Draco snaps. "What kind of heathen do you think I am?"

"A wizard," Harry says. "I'm sure lots of wizards haven't been to the cinema. Not everyone is comfortable with muggle things."

"Fine, I'll admit that I hadn't gone until a few years ago," Draco says. "Hannah took Greg and I to see a film Ernie didn't want to see with her. I think she was trying to encourage us to be more muggle friendly."

"Did it work?"

"On me at least. I even dated a muggle."

"So you've mentioned."

"And I'm not saying any more on the topic." He twists his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.

"What did you see with Hannah?" Harry asks. Draco flushes slightly.

"Brokeback Mountain." Harry grins.

"What did you think?"

"I went back twice more to see it in the theatre."

"Oh, so you're old hat at this," Harry says.

"Hardly. I don't know any of the films that are playing now." Draco gestured up at the titles above them. "What the hell is Tropic Thunder?"

"I haven't heard of any of these either. Should we pick one at random?"

"Potter, we're not teenagers going to the cinema to make out. I at least want to see something good." Harry frowns.

"Do you want to ask for a recommendation at the box office then?" he suggests.

"How have you not planned this out better?" Draco rounds on him. "Honestly, Potter, if this _were_ a real date, I wold not be impressed."

"No," Harry snaps, irritation flooding him. "If this _were_ a real date, we _would_ pick a film at random and spend most of the time making out."

"Would you prefer that?" Draco sneers.

"Would I prefer if this were a real date?" Harry asks. "Yes, I would." The words are out before he can stop them. Draco's mouth drops open in surprise.

"Well, I'm sorry that you have to pretend you're dating me and not here with someone else then," he says quietly. His eyes are downcast. Harry's heart feels like it has fallen into his heels. But Draco has given him an out and, for the sake of their professional relationship, he takes it.

"Don't be," he says. "I can't think of a better person to pretend to date." Draco frowns at him but doesn't say any more. "Look, should we just get dinner instead?"

"Alright," Draco says, nodding.

"And then we can do whatever you want with the rest of the evening."

"Whatever I want?" Draco asks. Harry nods. "In which case, I want to go clubbing." Harry raises his eyebrows but nods. "We might have to stop home first though."

"Why?"

"I need to change. This is not clubbing attire." He gestures down at his sweater and grey trousers. Harry smiles.

"It's a plan."

...

Draco had been unprepared for how much Harry's saying he would rather be out on a real date would hurt. He wonders who he would rather be out with for a moment before he realizes that train of thought is too painful. He had been so sure that Harry liked him. Their kisses had seemed so real.

So now all he wants to do is drink until he no longer feels the ache in his chest and dance until his feet hurt instead of his heart.

They eat at a steakhouse down the road from the cinema. Draco barely tastes his food. He drinks a pair of martinis and this helps him squash down some of his emotions. Harry keeps up a running conversation and Draco does his best to respond. He tries to appear normal. He doesn't want Harry to know how upset his comments had made him, because what good would that do anyway?

"So, any place in particular that you want to go after this?" Harry asks.

"Not really," Draco says. "Just somewhere with booze and music."

"I can work with that. In fact, I have the perfect place. And the bathroom stalls are big enough for my other promise tonight." Harry winks and Draco's stomach turns over. He had forgotten about that.

"You don't have to," he says dully.

"A promise is a promise," Harry insists. Draco has no response to that, so merely nods and takes a large gulp of his martini.

After dinner, they apparate home and Draco changes quickly into black leather trousers and a well fitting gray teeshirt. Then he ducks into the bathroom and quickly styles his hair. By the time he come back out, Harry has changed as well. Draco lifts an eyebrow at him and Harry shrugs.

"Figured this was better," he says. Draco has to agree. Harry is wearing a forest green teeshirt that matches his eyes and jeans that fit Harry so well that they look to have been tailored.

"Not bad," Draco says, flushing as he realizes how shamelessly his eyes have been raking Harry's frame.

"Not too shabby yourself. You ready?" Harry holds out a hand and Draco takes it, nodding.

A moment later, they appear in a darkened alleyway. They must be near wherever they're going because Draco can hear the dull thump of the bass through the wall next to them. Harry, still holding Draco's hand, drags him down the alley until they emerge on a larger street. Sure enough, the door to the club is a short distance from the alley. Draco makes to go stand in line, but Harry shakes his head and pulls him towards the front of the queue.

"Alright Mike," Harry says, hailing the doorman.

"Harry!" the tall muscular man cries. "Long time no see. Where've you been?"

"Busy with work," Harry says. "Can we go in?"

"'Course." Mike claps Harry on the back and ushers them through the door, much to the chagrin of the people in the front of the line, a couple of whom stare daggers at Draco as he walks past. But then they are inside and the music washes over Draco and he forgets about them.

"What do you want to drink?" Harry leans in and yells in his ear.

"Whisky and coke," Draco yells back. Harry nods and pulls Draco through the crowd towards the bar. Draco hadn't realized Harry was still holding his hand, but follows, still clutching it, so as not to lose the brunet in the press of people.

Harry orders from a bartender who also seems to know him on sight and Draco starts to wonder how often Harry has been here. Harry hands him his drink and Draco takes it appreciatively. He takes a large gulp and watches as Harry's eyes sweep the dance floor. Draco takes another sip and then makes his way out into the crowd, holding his glass above his head so as not to have it jostled. He doesn't look to see if Harry is following him. He just wants to dance.

He finds a patch of unoccupied floor and stops there. He takes a moment to find the beat and then starts to move in time with it. He closes his eyes and tries to shut out his emotions, but thoughts of Harry still swirl through his mind. He tips back more of his drink as he moves his hips to the music, concentrating on that, as opposed to his thoughts.

It is almost working when he feels a hand on his waist and a person dancing up behind him. His eyes snap open, but he does not turn around, preferring to pretend the mystery dancer is anyone but Potter. Instead he concentrates on the feel of the body behind him as he dances closer, pressing himself against the other man. Hands slip closer around his waist and Draco reaches up behind himself with one hand, intending to cup Potter's cheek with his hand.

Only, it's not Potter. Unless Potter has grown a beard in the last ten minutes. Surprised, he turns quickly and comes face to face with a stranger. His eyes go wide and he looks around desperately for Harry.

He spots him still at the bar, lounging against it, his elbows propped on top of the bar surface. He is looking straight at Draco, and Draco is sure he has been watching him dance with this man. He feels his face burn, although he hasn't _actually_ done anything wrong. He and Potter are not dating. Not actually. But somehow dancing with this stranger feels like a betrayal of Harry.

"Help," he mouths as the stranger begins to grind rather forcibly against Draco's crotch. He tries to pull gently away, but the man has a firm grasp on Draco's hips and doesn't let go. Instead, the man leans into Draco's neck, his beard hair tickling the sensitive skin there. In this brief moment of distraction, Draco has lost sight of Harry. He has disappeared from the bar, but to where, Draco doesn't know.

Draco cringes slightly as the strange man starts seemingly to kiss his neck. It's very wet and whiskery and Draco doesn't like the feeling at all. He pushes harder at the man's chest, but the man is too wrapped up in what he's doing to notice Draco's protestations. Draco is about to pull his wand out and jinx the man when Harry appears behind him.

Harry taps on the man's shoulder and the whiskery kisses stop. The man turns around, keeping one arm wrapped around Draco's waist.

"Whaddya want?" he asks.

"You're dancing with my boyfriend," Harry yells over the music. His eyes are angry. Draco steps sideways and pulls himself out of the man's grasp. He crosses the space over to Harry and takes his hand.

"Sorry mate," he says. "He was alone and dancing like he didn't want to be." When Harry continues to glare, the man shrugs and moves off through the dance floor.

"Thank you," Draco says.

"Don't mention it."

"I'm sorry. I thought it was you behind me."

"S'fine."

"Do _you_ want to dance?" Harry gives a noncommittal shrug, which Draco takes as an invitation. He puts Harry's hand on his waist and brings his own hands up around Harry's shoulders. A smile slowly crosses Harry's face as Draco starts to move his hips, nudging them against Harry to get him moving too.

And again, Draco loses himself in the beat of the music. He closes his eyes and pretends Harry is someone else, someone who actually wants to date him, even though that imaginary person looks an awful lot like Harry. He awkwardly sips at his drink over Harry's shoulder and soon his glass is empty. He looks around for a place to put it and steers them, still dancing towards a small table, where he puts it down. Harry, seeing what he is doing, knocks back the rest of his drink too and then Draco steers them back out into the throng of people dancing.

Amidst the beat of the music comes a loud guitar riff. Draco recognizes the song instantly as _Michael_ by Franz Ferdinand. Draco's dancing picks up as he pretends every 'Michael' is in fact Draco. He moves with wild abandon, bringing himself closer and closer to Harry as the music takes over his thoughts.

 _Draco, you're the boy with all the leather hips_

 _Sticky hair, sticky hips, stubble on my stick lips_

 _Draco, you're the only one I'd ever want._

Their hips are now moving together as Draco presses himself against Harry. He is sweating in the club's humid atmosphere, and when he brings his hands up and tangles them in Harry's hair he finds it damp with sweat as well. How his hands had made there way up to Harry's hair, he's not sure. But now their foreheads are pressed together and when Draco briefly opens his eyes, he sees that Harry's are closed as well. The guitar swells as Draco's heart does the same.

Draco shifts his head and now their noses are together. If he turns his head just so, their lips will ghost over each other. And they do. Draco is heady from their closeness. But neither of them make that last move to bring their lips together.

The song changes and Draco pulls his head back again. His heart is hammering in his chest and it is not helped by Harry opening his eyes and smirking at him.

"What?" he asks. Harry leans in close and speaks quietly into Draco's ear.

"I still owe you that favor."

"What? Now?" Harry shrugs. He removes his hands from Draco's waist and instead reaches up and takes one of the hands that Draco has draped around his neck.

"Why not?" And he leads him through the crowd again.

...

"Right so how does this work?" Draco asks once they're locked in a stall in the club's bathroom. Harry puts a finger up to his lips.

"Shh," he intones. Draco thinks this is unnecessary as the music is so loud he doubts anyone could hear them. Harry moves his hand swiftly southward and in a few seconds he has Draco's belt buckle undone.

"What?" Draco asks, feeling a bit stupid. But then Harry starts to unbutton his trousers and he shuts up. Harry makes quick work of his fly and soon his trousers are around his ankles, helped along by Harry's wand. ("Leather trousers, Draco? Really?") Though he knows he shouldn't, he finds this incredibly sexy and his dick begins to harden. And then Harry is on his knees and Circe the sight of the savior of the wizard of world on his knees in front of Draco is just too much. His erection tents his boxers, even though Harry has barely touched him, and he shivers in anticipation.

Harry looks up, grinning like a devil. Draco's erection bobs and his boxers shift around it. His face turns pink. He's not supposed to be this excited about the man he's decidedly _not dating_ sucking his cock. But then, he is getting his cock sucked so really, shouldn't he be excited?

All rational thought is then eradicated from his mind as Harry pulls down his boxers with one hand and palms his now free erection the other. Draco puts his arms out and steadies himself on the sides of the stall. Harry stops looking up at him and instead concentrates on his dick.

For a long moment, Harry just holds it and looks at it. It is all Draco can do not to thrust into his hand. But he keeps his hips still and looks down at Harry.

"Well," he says, trying to sound imperious and probably failing as he is quite sure his voice is shaking. "Are you going to suck it or not?"

"Oh," Harry says, his breath ghosting over Draco's shaft, "I am." His eye flash upward again and Draco bites his lower lip in anticipation.

Harry starts slowly. At first he just flicks his tongue gently at the head and Draco is about to tell him he's a big fucking tease when he abruptly takes it into his mouth. And then Harry's tongue is swirling around him as he gradually takes him in and Draco suppresses a moan, painfully aware that they are in a public restroom and someone could walk in on them at any time. Honestly, that just makes it more exciting.

And fuck, if the sight of Harry's mouth wide around Draco's cock is not a pleasing sight, he's not sure what is. His hips buck before he can stop them.

Harry's head begins to bob as Draco watches and a wonderful feeling starts to build in Draco, growing with every movement of Harry's head.

Draco scrabbles one hand to the top of the stall, fearful that his knees might give out. A moment later he is glad he did as Harry reaches a hand between Draco's legs and begins fingering his hole.

"Holy shit, Potter," he breathes. Harry glances upward for a moment and Draco thinks he can see triumph in his eyes.

And then Harry's finger breaches him and he can't hold back anymore. Draco comes hard into Harry's mouth, gripping the top of the bathroom stall to stop himself from sliding to the floor. After one last shuddering, amazing jolt, he sags, supporting himself by just one arm. He looks down at Harry, who is wiping his mouth, looking pleased with himself. He wants to tell him to wipe that damn smirk of his face while he's at it, but he can't bring himself to be upset just now. He's too bonelessly happy.

He allows himself a few more moments of leaning against the side of the stall before he straightens up again. Harry is off his knees now, leaning casually in the corner. Draco quickly pulls up his boxers and trousers.

"That was pleasant," he says gruffly. Harry smirks at him again.

"I'll bet it was," he says. His eyes flick downward briefly as Draco begins to buckle his belt again. Draco flushes. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," Harry says more quietly. He takes a step towards Draco, which brings him very close in the small space. But then he seems to change his mind as he reaches first for Draco's hip before turning abruptly to the door and opening it. Draco takes a deep breath, smooths down his hair and then follows Harry out into the bathroom.

…

They spend the rest of the evening drinking and dancing and not kissing each other. They stumble home around two in the morning, too drunk to apparate and so forced to use Muggle transportation. Draco tries to insist they take a bus, but Harry hails a taxi before they even reach the nearest bus stop.

Draco almost falls asleep in the back of the cab, leaning on Harry's shoulder, but they reach the Leaky Cauldron before he fully drifts off. And instead they stumble into the pub, Harry supporting Draco who is still drowsing and insisting he can walk and sleep at the same time.

How Harry drags Draco up all the stairs to his bedroom, he is not sure, but he deposits the blond into his bed moments before he falls all the way asleep. He's still fully clothed, shoes and all, so Harry gently begins to undress him. He knows he won't be able to get him into pajamas, but he figures Draco will be more comfortable sleeping in just his teeshirt and boxers than in his leather trousers.

As he gently eases Draco's trousers down, he thinks back to doing this earlier in the evening. A smile creeps over his face as he remembers the way that Draco had gone weak in the knees as he had come.

"Holy shit, Potter," replays itself in Harry's mind and his grin turns into a smirk. He has Draco's trousers off now, so he gently puts Draco's now bare legs under the duvet and pulls the duvet up so that it's covering the blond completely. Then Harry turns and walks to the bathroom in order to get ready for bed.

As he brushes his teeth, their time in the bathroom stall continues to loop in Harry's mind until he's aroused to the point where he needs to take care of it. He spits out his toothpaste and rinses out his mouth, then reaches down and undoes his trousers.

He looks at himself in the mirror over the sink. His face is flushed and his hair is as messy as it has ever been. He remembers Draco tangling his hands into his hair while they were dancing, and he fumbles his trousers down quickly, taking his boxers with them. He pretends Draco is pressed up against him on the dance floor again, their foreheads pressed together, sweat mingling. He grasps himself and begins to move his hand quickly up and down. Images of Draco flash through his mind's eye as he brings himself closer to climax. It doesn't take long. One more thought of 'Holy shit, Potter,' and he comes. His knees buckle slightly and he leans against the sink as he sends spunk onto the mirror. The cold porcelain is jarring on his bare skin and he rights himself quickly. He quickly cleans up after himself, pulls on his pajamas and collapses into bed.

He closes his eyes, but sleep will not come. His mind is full of the man asleep beside him. He'd seen the flash of pain in Draco's eyes when he thought Harry would rather be on a date with someone else and all Harry wants to do is soothe that pain away. He had tried all night to make him feel better, not least of all with their activities in the bathroom stall, but he still isn't sure if he has done enough.

He wonders if they will ever reach a point where neither of them can deny their feelings anymore, for Harry is now quite sure that Draco feels the same way that he does.

But, then, he thinks, they can't be together. They quite definitely can't. Maybe if Draco were no longer his asset... But how would that happen? Short of Draco becoming a full Unspeakable, Harry can't see any way that their relationship would ever be approved.

Not that the Ministry had "approved" of his and Oliver's relationship. They hadn't known about it. And they never would.

For a moment, Harry expects to feel the almost paralyzing stab of longing in his gut when he thinks about Oliver, but it doesn't come. It aches, that's for sure, but the pain is starting to dull now. Just like all the times before. Because if there is one thing that Harry knows, it's that time heals.

But time won't heal what he feels for Draco. Because the more time he spends with Draco, the stronger his feelings for the blond become. It's the same as it was in school, only the polar opposite. While at Hogwarts, the more time he spent with Draco, the more he despised him. Now, the more time he spends with him, the more he likes him. And he can't _not_ spend time with him - he has to protect Draco. And so, the more and more he falls into like (or is it more?) with his prior rival.

He turns on his side, trying to get comfortable, and on an impulse snakes out an arm and drapes it over Draco's torso. Draco doesn't wake, but Harry revels in the closeness nonetheless.

Finally, after what seems like hours of thinking, but is really only fifteen minutes, he falls asleep, still with his arm wrapped around Draco.


	17. Draco Versus the Veritaserum

"Congratulations Mr. Malfoy on such a high profile arrest," Granger says to him. They are in her office, somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry. (Someone really needs to give him a map.)

"Thank you," he says. He does not need to say that it is because of the Reliquary that he'd had any idea that Nicholas Wise had been the Book Thief. Everyone in the room knows it.

"Now that we've seen the full potential of The Reliquary project," Granger continues. "It is high time we started training you for more field operations." She holds up a hand as Draco starts to protest that he has already been on field operations. "Yes, Draco, I know you've been a valuable asset in the field." She gives him a small smile and for the first time (in perhaps his whole acquaintance with Hermione Granger) he appreciates her smile. And, perhaps for the first time, he notices that her teeth aren't nearly as large as he thought they were. But that has no bearing on their conversation, so he banishes that thought for another time.

"So," she continues. "I would like you to come in to the Ministry training rooms once a week going forward to start your Auror training." She looks down at the papers in front of her. "Now, I know you don't have the N.E.W.T.s that are strictly required for Auror training, but in your case we will make the exception."

"Thank you," he says. He glances to the chair next to him where Harry is sitting and sees that Harry is beaming.

It has been several days since their ill-fated "date", where Harry had let slip that he would rather be on a date with someone else, and in that time, Harry has been just as "hands on" as he has needed to be to keep up the charade of their relationship, but nothing more. Just as many "impromptu" make out sessions against the bookshelves of Flourish and Blotts, but no more than that. It's almost as if Draco's mentioning dating someone else has reminded Potter that yes, in fact, he would rather be with someone - anyone - else. Which is to say that it has been rather miserable.

True, Draco does have the fresh memories of Harry sucking him off, but this pales in comparison to his memories of their stolen night (and shower) at the start of the whole Reliquary adventure. But Draco will take what he can get, even if it hasn't happened again.

"What N.E.W.T.s would I need?" he asks out of curiosity. Having never gone back to Hogwarts after the second Wizarding War, Draco has no N.E.W.T.s. It is something his parents have always been disappointed about.

"Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms," Granger says.

"Oh," he says. "I mean," he pauses, thinking carefully for a moment. "I could try to take them if you need me to?" But Granger waves this suggestion off.

"No need," she says. "Croaker has personally approved your acceptance into the program. Secretly, of course, as you will then progress to Unspeakable training, and, well, we don't necessarily want people to know about your being part of the Department."

"Just like me," Harry says and Draco detects a hint of pride in his voice.

"Almost," Granger says with a smile. "People know you were an Auror, Harry." Harry grins.

"But now they think I'm a professional celebrity."

"Yes, well, we can't all have your shiny reputation, Potter," Draco says. Pansy, who is sitting on Draco's other side, snickers.

"Moving on," Granger says, doing just that with the conversation. "You will now stay over at Harry's at least once a week and in that time, you will train with Harry and I. As I said, we will start with Auror training and move on from there."

"Ok," Draco says because there is nothing else he can say about that. When the your boss says you will do something, you do it. He doesn't mention that he has been working on his defensive magic in his spare time because he is sure that he doesn't know half the things he needs to.

"Any questions?"

"When do we start?" Draco has learned from working for Big Dick that it is always good to appear enthusiastic about anything your boss tells you to do.

"Tomorrow."

And that is that.

...

Harry is practically bouncing as they leave Hermione's office. Draco is finally going to be trained to be an Unspeakable. He knows it will take time, but at the very least it is one step closer to Draco no longer being his asset, and potentially being his partner.

"Congratulations," Pansy says to Draco.

"Thanks," he says.

"Though, I'm rather jealous that you don't have to sit your N.E.W.T.s. They were a bitch."

"Are you sad that I'm not going to be a Hit Wizard with you?" Draco asks. Pansy scoffs.

"No," she says. "I don't want to train you." But she gives Draco a playful nudge.

"Charming."

"Plus, you couldn't be anonymous on our team. Hit Wizards are much higher profile than Unspeakables, for obvious reasons."

"As long as you're not saying that I couldn't cut it as a Hit Wizard," Draco says.

"No, I'm sure you could, but it would definitely raise a lot more questions."

"How does no one at Flourish and Blotts know about your position?" Draco asks. It has never occurred to him to ask until now. Pansy sighs.

"Big Dick knows," she says. "But none of your idiot coworkers have put two and two together."

"Not even Greg?" Draco asks.

"I confund him every now and again," she says breezily.

"You _what_?"

"Well, he reads the Prophet. The others don't. I just make him think that my sister, Daisy, is the Hit Wizard, not me."

"Oh."

"Yeah, he still thinks I'm a Slytherin fuck up like the pair of you."

"Harsh."

"Draco, you work in a book store."

"I happen to _like_ working in the book store." But Pansy waves him off. They have reached the elevators now and Draco angrily stabs the up button.

"Do you know what's going to happen to the team once Draco's trained?" Harry asks in order to diffuse the situation. "Has Dempsey talked to you about that?"

"I'm not sure Dempsey knows Draco's being trained," Pansy says. She is now examining her scarlet painted nails with feigned interest.

"Are you going to tell her?"

"It's not my place."

"Circe," Draco says. "The office politics around here are a nightmare, aren't they?"

...

"Draco, darling," Pansy says. "If you're going to be a top secret, higher up approved Unspeakable, I'm not going to be the one to blow your cover. Even within the Ministry. I'm sure if Dempsey needs to know, she will know."

"Right," Draco says. "So who knows Potter is an Unspeakable?"

"Only those who need to know," Harry says.

"But then what badge do you keep flashing at people? Like security? Or the line of people outside of Bertie's office?"

"My old Auror badge. No one quite knows if I'm still an Auror, or if I'm retired, or what, so they just keep letting me use it."

"They what?" Draco is flabbergasted, but Harry just shrugs.

"Perk of being _The Savior of the Wizarding World_. Everyone's so awestruck that they don't think twice about me."

"Tosser." Draco frowns again. "But then how did Pansy know you were an Unspeakable?"

"Pansy has security clearance," Harry says simply. "Do do _know_ she's a Major, right?"

"Um."

"Darling, it's fine," Pansy says, brushing it off. "I outrank you both."

"But how?"

"I worked bloody hard for it," she snaps. It is clear she has been asked this question more times than she would have liked.

"In which case, will you help train me?" Draco asks. "I mean, like extra training? Since you appear to be the best." Pansy puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Since you asked so nicely, I will." Draco smiles at her and for the first time since Granger had mentioned training him, he feels a bit more sure of himself.

"I hope we can still be a team," he says. But Pansy smiles at him in a way that makes it seem like they won't be.

...

Training turns out to be much harder than Draco had anticipated it being. They go through everything he had been teaching himself during his breaks in a matter of a weeks worth of lessons. Soon he is learning complicated counter-jinxes and brewing potions that are well beyond N.E.W.T. level. He is surprised to find that Harry is much better at Potions than he remembers from school. When he asks Harry about this, Harry just laughs.

"It's easier without Professor Snape breathing down my neck," he says.

Every lunchtime, he practices dueling with Pansy, and if Greg ever seems suspicious of Draco's rumpled clothing (he falls over a lot, particularly the days he spends perfecting an advanced shield charm), Draco plays it off as having visited Harry in the ice cream parlor's store room.

Draco continues to run after work, pushing himself to run farther and faster every night. He is grateful for the stamina he has built up from his daily run, as it proves helpful during his various spell casting lessons.

He is so tired most of the time, that he doesn't have the energy to think about his relationship with Harry. They keep up with their cover of dating by kissing each other at what seems like every opportunity, but Draco worries less about what the kisses mean. Which is not to say that he doesn't enjoy them - he just doesn't think about how they make him feel.

He does think from time to time about the blowjob Harry gave him. How could he not? It had been bloody brilliant. But there is still no repeat performance and he does his best not to dwell on why this is.

Harry moves into his new house, and he and Draco spend the occasional night there. True to his word, Harry has left half of his giant closet open for Draco and Draco has moved some of his fancier dress robes and suits in. They have decided it is easier to stay at Harry's place after missions, so that Greg doesn't wonder as much about how many events they seem to attend.

Plus, Greg is happy enough with the addition of Kreacher's weekly cleaning of the house that he doesn't seem to mind Draco's absences. He often remarks to Harry that Kreacher is the model house elf, at which Harry just laughs. But it is true.

Aside from the occasional muttered invective against Harry, he is perfectly pleasant. He is thrilled to be helping Master Malfoy and eagerly does anything that Draco asks. It is a great help, particularly as Draco's training often takes place on his days off or after work, when he would previously have had time to keep up with his chores. Though Harry had said Kreacher would be visiting once a week, after the first few visits, he starts to come every day, and Harry grudgingly allows this as it's the first time he thinks he's ever seen Kreacher even remotely happy.

On top of all of his training, Draco continues to read the Prophet from cover to cover each morning and report on any sparks. He is taken along on more of the subsequent missions with P Squared. Though he is still mostly relegated to being a glorified lookout, he is pleased that he is being trusted to not fall into immediate danger.

It is in this manner that almost two months pass in what feels like the blink of an eye, and Draco walks into Flourish and Blotts one Tuesday and is surprised to find the store decorated for Halloween.

"What?" he asks, vaguely gesturing at a giant spider hanging from the ceiling.

"Halloween is on Friday," Greg says.

"Right."

"Do you have a costume?"

"Of course," Draco lies. "It's top secret though," he adds, before Greg can ask what it is.

"Are you and Harry doing a couple's costume?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy," Draco says quickly.

"So that's a yes then," Greg says with a grin. Draco plasters a similar smile on his face, wondering what he has gotten himself into.

This feeling is compounded when Hannah stops by the shop and invites them to her annual Halloween party.

"And _of course_ Harry is invited too," she tells Draco.

"They've got a couple's costume," Greg says with a wink that makes Hannah smile so widely that Draco realizes that he and Harry are really going to have to have a couple's costume or risk letting her down. So instead he just smiles and nods until she leaves the store.

At lunch he all but runs to the Parlor and into Harry's arms. The words tumble out so quickly that Harry is sure that there is a Reliquary related emergency. He steers Draco quickly to the Cooler.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asks as soon as they're through the hidden door.

"Costumes," Draco cries. "We need costumes!" Harry frowns at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"For Hannah's party. We need costumes. Halloween costumes." Harry's face breaks into a smile.

"We've been invited to a party?"

"Hannah and Ernie's annual Halloween party."

"That sounds fun!"

"Greg told her we would have a couple's costume," Draco mumbles.

"Then we will," Harry says simply.

"Yes, but _what_? We only have a few days to come up with something."

"Leave it to me."

"Really?"

"Really." Harry reaches out and squeezes Draco's shoulder and Draco feels his worries dissipate.

"Thank you," he says.

...

"Hi Hannah," Harry says, walking up to the bar in the Leaky Cauldron where Hannah is busy wiping down the countertops.

"Harry, hi," she says. "What can I help you with?"

"Draco just told me about your party." She grins at him, her smile making her eyes crinkle in the corners.

"Oh yes," she says. "Ernie and I are very excited about it."

"I had a favor to ask."

"Oh?" She cocks her head to the side and stares at him.

"Would it be possible to invite Ron and Hermione as well?" Harry usually spends Halloween with them, watching scary movies and drinking cheap wine.

"Of course!" she cries. She claps a hand to her forehead, and smacks herself in the face with her rag. "I can't believe I didn't think to invite them. Do you think I should invite other members of the DA? Goodness, I haven't seen them in ages. I mean, Ernie will be there, of course, but I could invite Susan and Justin and..." she trails off, lost in thought. Harry waits until she remembers he is there before answering.

"Yes," he says as her eyes focus on him again. "I think that would be lovely."

"Perhaps not Zacharias though," she says and Harry has to suppress a laugh at the face that she makes when she says his name. He leaves Hannah to her planning and begins to think in earnest about his and Draco's costumes.

He is almost to the ice cream parlor when the idea comes to him. He grins to himself and considers going to tell Draco forthwith, but decides to wait until later in the day. Instead he spends the day scooping ice cream and posing for photos with people, which is a standard afternoon for him. He leaves around four forty five in order to collect Draco from Flourish and Blotts. Tuesday is Draco's day for training with Hermione, which Harry accompanies him to in order to help protect his cover.

Draco is waiting for him when he enters the bookshop, a smirk playing about his features. Harry walks up to him and kisses him hello on the cheek.

"You ready?" he asks. He hears a howl of frustration from behind the bookcase that Draco is leaning against. He frowns and peers around the side. Joe and Luca are crouched there, wearing lime green top hats with matching robes. "What's wrong fellas? Were you wanting to get into the gossip magazines in those get ups?"

"See, Joe," Luca says, excited. "I _told_ you he could read minds." Harry does not try to correct them, but instead faces Draco again. Draco raises an eyebrow at him.

"Shall we give them a show then?" Harry asks. The corner of Draco's smirk twitches and he nods. Harry reaches out and rests his hand against the bookshelf, next to Draco's head. Then he leans in and whispers his costume idea in Draco's ear. He pulls back briefly to see Draco's expression. The blond appears to be considering it at the very least, and that's the best Harry can do for now. So he takes a step closer to Draco and leans in again, this time capturing Draco's lips with his. He hears a small cheer from behind the bookshelf and he can't help but smile against Draco's mouth. He thinks he feels Draco smile as well, but he can't be sure as he is already deepening the kiss.

He revels in the feeling of Draco against his body and the feeling of their lips pressed together. If he could, he would distill the swell of joy in his chest and bottle it. Then maybe he could work on purifying it - taking out the bittersweet notes that taint it. He moves his hand to cup Draco's cheek, stroking it with his thumb as their tongues roam.

He catches lime green movement out of the corner of his mostly closed eye, and opens it more to see Joe and Luca striking poses behind them. He keeps his face pressed against Draco's for another few seconds and then pulls away. Draco's eyes are slightly unfocused and his lips are pink and Harry's heart melts a little bit before he pushes all his emotions down again.

"Ready to go?" Harry asks and Draco nods. Harry takes his hand and they walk out of the shop and onto Diagon Alley, where they promptly diaspparate and reappear in the Ministry.

...

"Today we will be training with veritaserum," Hermione says, watching Draco carefully for a reaction. But he remains professional, his face neutral. It seems that it is only Harry who is nervous about this. He is, of course, worried that someone will ask about their relationship. He knows that it is possible to resist veritaserum - that is the whole point of the training - but if anyone asks about them before any training has happened... Well, it doesn't bear thinking about.

His feeling of dread is compounded by the appearance of Parkinson. The Major has seemed more interested in their cover relationship than Harry is comfortable with. He wonders how much she suspects and fears that she knows something. But no one has said anything untoward about Harry and Draco's relationship, so if she does have any suspicions, she has not shared them with anyone. Parkinson is shrewd, however, and Harry doubts she would report anything without being sure. Particularly not if it involves Harry, because she surely knows that both Croaker and Hermione hold Harry in high regard. Either way, Harry is sure to watch himself around her at all times.

But now she is here for Draco's veritaserum training and this could give her the evidence that she needs to jeopardize Harry's career. A small voice in Harry's head says that it was Harry himself who jeopardized his own career, which he acknowledges and then ignores. There's no helping it now.

So he follows Hermione, Draco and Parkinson down the corridor to the training room. He concentrates on taking deep, calming breaths to stop the mild shaking of his hands. Part of him considers asking to be excused so that he can go to Croaker and preemptively hand in his badge, but he can't bring himself to do that. If he's going to lose his job, he's not going to go without a fight. After all, technically nothing has happened between them since Harry was officially assigned as Draco's handler. (Aside from one ill advised blowjob but Harry's not going to think about that either. It was a favor anyway. It was not done out of affection. Or so he tells himself.)

Hermione sits Draco in a chair in the middle of the mostly empty training room. The only other furniture is another chair, opposite the first.

"Ok, Draco," Hermione says. "We are going to start out the training with some baseline questions, and then we will move on to concealing the truth, even when under the influence of veritaserum. How does that sound?"

"That works," Draco says. He briefly catches Harry's eye and Harry gives him a small nod. He hopes he appears calm. He _is_ trained to be cool under pressure, but his stomach is trying itself in knots as he stands there and he is worried some of his concern shows on his face.

"Very well," Hermione says. She leaves the room briefly and comes back holding a glass of water. She hands the glass to Draco. "Drink this please."

...

Draco bites his lip nervously for a moment but then does as she asks, gulping down the water in one go. She takes the glass from him and hands it to Harry. Harry leaves the room and Draco isn't sure if he is glad about this or not. He glances instead at Pansy who is lounging against the wall behind Granger. She flashes him a thumbs up.

"Right, we will start with some baseline questions. What is your full name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Draco says promptly. He can feel the veritaserum in his system, compelling him to answer truthfully. It feels almost like a strong Legillimens and Draco wonders if he can employ the skills he learned from his aunt to fight any questions he doesn't want to answer. He starts methodically putting up the various barriers in his mind, and though he hasn't done this in years, it comes easily to him.

Granger asks him a few more basic questions before nodding, clearly satisfied that the potion is working.

"Right," she says. "Now we will work on resisting the veritaserum. By now I'm sure you have felt the compulsion to tell the truth, yes?"

"Yes."

"What form does your boggart take and how do you typically deal with it?" Pansy asks, cutting off whatever Granger was about to say.

"Voldemort," he says automatically. His voice cracks and he winces. "And I put him in a flowerpot and turn his head into a daisy."

"Yes, he's ready," Pansy says. Draco looks at her and she nods, clearly satisfied that the veritaserum is working.

"Thank you, Major," Granger says testily. "If you don't mind, we'll begin now."

"I'll leave you to it," Pansy says and walks out of the room. Draco is sad to see her go. He had felt less nervous with her there.

"For these first exercises, I would like you to resist the veritaserum if you can." Draco nods. His mouth is dry. "And don't worry if you don't get it on your first try, or even on your second or third. It requires a lot of practice before most people are able to mislead or lie under its influence. For this, we will pretend that you have been captured by a rogue witch, who wants to know if you are a Ministry employee. You must try to keep your cover intact. Ready?"

Draco wants badly to say no, for he doesn't feel ready, but he forces out a yes. And once he has done that, he realizes that he has already done what Hermione is asking. Hope flares in his chest. Perhaps this won't be as bad as he fears.

At this point, Harry sidles back into the room. "Ah, good, Harry. We are working on baseline questions." Harry nods stiffly and then conjures a chair for himself. Draco's eyes flick briefly to Harry's and he sees the other man tense for a nanosecond. "What is your relationship with Harry Potter?"

An almost overwhelming desire comes over Draco to tell her about his true feelings for Harry, about their one amazing night, about the blowjob, about… but he squashes these down. He concentrates hard on what he needs to say, though he feels like he's about to spit out the truth at any moment. The actual physical feeling of being about to vomit is overwhelming - there is a moment where he is about to physically retch - but Draco ignores it and focuses on the official line of his cover story.

"He's my handler and my cover is that we're dating. Our relationship is professional. I think we are friends now though, which is an improvement on our relationship during school." It is the partial truth, so it comes out easily enough. Unsaid and pushed down, of course, is the fact that Draco dreams about their being a real couple. Also unsaid are any of his true feelings about Potter.

"Very good. And your romantic relationship is just that? A cover? No secret feelings for each other? Nothing untoward has happened?"

"No feelings and nothing unprofessional has happened," he says although it hurts. He nearly retches again. He bites his tongue so hard he is worried he will start bleeding. They move on. Draco steals a glance at Harry and thinks he can see a frown on the other man's face, but the emotion is fleeting and he can't be sure he saw it. He wonders briefly why Granger asked him at all.

"Very well," she says. "Let us begin the training exercises now. Remember, you want to try to keep your cover intact." Draco nods.

He blinks and when he opens his eyes, the room has transformed. He is in what appears to be a barn, with a horse tied up in a stall in the far corner. A stooped witch with wispy gray hair is staring at him, brandishing a walking stick at him.

"I just know it!" she cries, spittle flying out of her mouth. "You's one of them Ministry wizards, ent you?"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," he forces out. Even in his agony, he is polite - his Malfoy upbringing coming through again. "I work for Flourish and Blott's. You know, the bookstore? On Diagon Alley?" And then he snaps his mouth shut for fear that he will be sick, though the mention of Flourish and Blott's, his actual other employer helps to temper some of the nausea.

"No," the woman shrieks. "You're a Ministry brat. I knows it."

"You have the wrong person," Draco cries. "I don't work for the Ministry." He concentrates on anything except the feeling of rising bile in his throat. He takes a few breaths and forces the feeling down again. His skin feels like it is crawling with ants, but he's felt worse, so he ignores that too.

"Well then," spits the woman. "What is your role at this ruddy bookstore?" The fact that he can tell the truth floods Draco and he nearly cries out with relief. But this is a test too, so he merely answers the question.

"I'm the assistant manager. I help my boss keep the store running smoothly." The barn scene melts away and becomes the room at the Ministry again. The crazed witch disappears and turns back into Hermione Granger, albeit, a very pleased looking Hermione Granger.

"That was excellent, Draco," she gushes. "I've never seen such natural talent."

"I've had Occlumency training," Draco says because it is easier to keep telling the truth if it can't hurt him to tell it. Granger nods slowly.

"That makes sense," she says softly. "May I ask who taught you?" Draco grits his teeth before realizing there is no shame in admitting who it was.

"My Aunt Bellatrix." A flash of irritation crosses Granger's face but she nods.

"I see," she says. She checks her watch and nods. "Moving on," she says. "We will practice lying about things that spark the Reliquary." Draco nods slowly. "I imagine this might be easier as you won't have any emotional connection to the information. Harry, I'm going to ask you to help me with this round." Harry nods.

And so it starts again. The room shifts and they are sitting in a Muggle police station. Draco is handcuffed to the table in front of him. Hermione and Harry sit across the table, both wearing Muggle police uniforms. Draco almost laughs at how incongruous it looks on Harry, but he stops himself.

"Tell us about Felix Green," Hermione says. The name sparks the Reliquary and Draco's mind is flooded with information about the man. He's a suspected Muggle arms dealer who amplifies his wares with magic.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Draco says. "I've never heard that name before." Which is strictly true. He hadn't heard of Green until Granger had mentioned him just now. He is discovering that mixing in as much of the truth as he can to his lies, makes them easier to tell.

"You have no idea who Felix Green is?" Granger presses.

"No," Draco forces out. He bites the inside of his cheek to distract him from the growing nausea. He concentrates on compartmentalizing again, forcing himself not to think about Green, but rather to think about innocuous things like what he had for breakfast this morning.

They continue to ask him about Green, and then other things in the Reliquary. He continues to fight the veritaserum, finding that it gradually gets easier as the potion starts to wear off. By the end of the session, he is exhausted, but pleased with himself.

…

Harry feels both relieved and a little deflated as they are leaving. Relieved, of course, that Draco was skilled enough under veritaserum to lie about the full nature of their relationship, deflated that Hermione'd had the gall to ask about it. He knows it's her job and that she just wants to keep them safe, but Harry is still upset that she doesn't trust him.

 _To be fair,_ a little voice says in his head, _you would throw those rules out the window in the blink of an eye. Just look at Oliver._ He wonders if Hermione had been thinking about Oliver when she asked Draco about Harry and he grinds his teeth in frustration. He had told her about that in confidence, as a friend, not as a coworker.

But it was just like her to meddle in things that didn't concern her.

He wonders briefly if Draco's skill with veritaserum will make her more or less suspicious of his answer that they were professional. Harry had been impressed at how quickly the blond had mastered it. He wants to ask him about it, but Draco looks so tired that he decides to wait until he's had time to rest.

Instead, they apparate back to Harry's house, order take out and eat it, sprawled next to each other on the sofa. When they are done, Harry turns on the television and Draco falls asleep, slumping sideways into Harry. Harry carries him up to bed and helps him out of his shoes, trousers and shirt before tucking him in. Then he stands for a moment, just looking down at Draco. He smiles and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Draco's ear. His heart gives a painful lurch of affection. And because Draco is asleep - and only because Draco is asleep - he whispers,

"I love you."

He realizes, with another painful jolt of his heart, that it's true.


	18. Draco Versus Halloween Part 1

The remainder of the week flies by and then it's Friday and the day of Hannah's party. Big Dick has encouraged the Flourish and Blott's staff to dress up for Halloween, so Draco puts on his costume from the year before.

Greg looks visibly affronted when he walks into the store dressed in a Prada suit with silver glitter devil's horns.

"The Devil Wears Prada again?" he asks. Draco shrugs.

"I'm saving the joint costume for tonight," he says.

"Boring," Greg says.

"You just want to know what it is."

"Yes, and?"

"And you're wearing last year's costume too." It is true. Greg is wearing his vampire costume, with his hair slicked back and an emphasized widows peak.

"You're no fun." Draco shrugs again and walks off only to be accosted by Joe and Luca who are dressed as jungle explorers.

"We heard there was a party tonight," Joe says.

"A really good party," Luca adds. Draco schools his face into a mask of indifference.

"Is there?" he asks.

"Don't play dumb with us, Malfoy," Luca hisses, trying to look threatening, but instead he merely looks short sighted.

"I am sure that I don't know what you're talking about," Draco says and pushes past them. Undeterred, they follow him all the way into the stock room.

"Please," wheedles Joe.

"Pretty please," Luca says. Draco rounds on them.

"Look," he says. "It's not my party. I can't give out the details."

"Oh, so it's a party with a secret keeper then?" Joe asks. "You literally can't give out details? Only the person throwing it can?"

"Something like that," Draco says, even though it is not. Knowing Hannah, if Joe and Luca asked her if they could attend, she would graciously say yes, but Draco spends enough time with the pair at work that he doesn't want to see them in his off hours too.

"Whose party is it?" Joe asks. Draco mimes zipping up his lips and shakes his head.

"Fine," Luca says. "We'll go ask Greg. Come on, Joe." He takes Joe by the hand and drags him back out into the store. Draco watches as the stock room door closes behind them before rolling his eyes. Then he turns his attention to the new inventory of books that they've received and begins cataloging them.

It is dull but he makes quick work of it, leaving a tidy list pinned to the wall before heading back out onto the sales floor. He finds Joe and Luca pestering Greg, who is pointedly ignoring them.

"Please please please please please," Luca cries, circling Greg as though he were prey.

"Come on, Greg," Joe says. "You know you want to."

Draco catches Greg's eye above Luca's head and notes the irritation there. He grins at his friend from across the store and receives a scowl in return. He crosses the floor and walks up to them.

"As much fun as it is to watch you harass your coworker," Draco says once he is within earshot. "I think it's best you get back to work." Joe and Luca fall silent and glare at Draco. Draco shoos them along with his hands and they scarper.

"Thanks," Greg says. "I was about to cave."

"You held up for a good while."

"I've been subjected to Ministry interrogation, but the Hit Wizards have nothing on Joe and Luca."

"Don't let-" Draco almost says Pansy but corrects himself at the last minute "-Pansy's sister, Daisy, hear you say that." Greg looks puzzled for a moment before nodding and Draco is worried that Pansy is going to have to confund him again.

"Is Pansy going to Hannah's party?" Greg asks, suddenly perking up.

"Why?"

"No reason," Greg says quickly.

"Aha!" comes an excited cry from behind the nearest bookshelf. "It's Hannah's party!"

"Oh fuck."

…

Hannah and Ernie's party, predictably, is amazing. They have transformed their entire house for the event, save for the bedrooms which are "colloportused shut to prevent shenanigans" according to Ernie. Every room has a different theme and Harry, Greg and Draco have a lot of fun going through all of them with Hannah before the rest of the guests arrive. Harry laughs briefly when they enter the upstairs corridor, which is entirely coated in fake cobwebs with realistic spiders crawling over it.

"What's funny?" Hannah asks.

"I guarantee you, Ron is not going to come in here," he says. "He _hates_ spiders." And then he launches into a story about Harry and Ron going to the Forbidden Forrest in their second year and confronting hundreds of acromantulae, which Draco thinks must be fiction until Harry assures him that it actually happened.

"No," Draco says a few minutes later, in the guest bedroom while he and Harry are changing into their costumes. "You've got to be fucking with me. There's no way you went into an acromantula lair at the age of twelve and lived to tell the tale."

"But I did," Harry says. "And then I went into a basilisk's lair later that year and again lived to tell the tale."

"Circe, you're insane."

"I did what I had to do," Harry says, shrugging. "Meanwhile, I seem to recall you thinking the whole people getting petrified thing was pretty funny." Harry's tone is teasing but Draco flushes, ashamed of his past self.

"I was twelve," he says. "And an idiot."

"I don't think you were an idiot," Harry says gently. "I think you were brought up to think a certain way. And you were twelve."

"I was delighting in the fact that people might _die_ , Potter. I was a dick."

"Do you want me to be upset with you?" Harry asks lightly, turning to face Draco. He is in the process of buttoning up his shirt and the flannel hangs partway open. Draco does his best not to let his eyes linger there.

"No. Yes. I don't know." He puts his hands up to his head. "I feel like I'm still atoning for my younger self. I deserve more people to be angry with me." He moves his hands down to his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. A moment later, he feels Harry lift his hands away. He opens his eyes and finds Harry staring into them with an expression of concern on his face.

"No," Harry says. "You don't."

"But I do."

"No," Harry says again, this time more fiercely. And then the brunet's arms are around him and Harry is clutching him close. Draco stiffens for a moment and Harry hugs him tighter. Reluctantly, Draco relaxes into Harry's arms. He rests his head on Harry's shoulder and all the confusion about their relationship washes over him all at once. Because Harry is holding him and whispering nice things in his ear about how he's no longer the self absorbed arsehole he was in school and he thinks it's real but he's not sure.

He can't help it. He starts to cry, tears silently spilling out of his eyes and down his face. He feels so safe in Harry's arms. So safe and wanted, and for a moment he can convince himself that it's real.

"I don't deserve you," he whispers before he can stop himself. "But then, I don't really have you," he adds sadly. He doesn't think he has said the last part loud enough for anyone but himself to have heard it, but evidently Harry does.

"Yes, you do," Harry says. Draco's heart stutters.

"What?" he asks, pulling back to look at Harry's face. Harry holds his gaze, his face serious.

"You do have me," is all that Harry says and then he reaches up and gently wipes the tears off of Draco's face.

"Oh," Draco says. He doesn't know what else to say. "But we're not supposed-"

"-I know and I don't care." Draco's eyebrows slowly rise in surprise. His mouth falls open. Harry still hasn't looked away and this is making Draco's heart pound somewhere in the region of his throat. He swallows nervously, snapping his mouth shut.

"Damn it," Harry says."I wish I knew how to quit you." The tension breaks.

"Oh, don't you fucking Brokeback Mountain me, Potter," Draco snaps. "Even if we _are_ dressed like this." He gestures down at the sheepskin lined jacket he's wearing.

"I couldn't resist," Harry says with a grin. "But I don't actually want to quit you. I was just getting in character." He rests his hand on Draco's cheek again, stroking it gently with his thumb. Draco's breath hitches and he swallows nervously. He's not used to their intimacy being real, so even though the feel of Harry's body against his is familiar, it is new at the same time.

Harry leans in and kisses him softly. His mouth lingers on Draco's for a long moment before he pulls back again.

"Come on," he says. "Let's finish getting dressed and join the party." Draco nods even though all he wants to do is stay here, alone with Harry, and delight in the fact that their fake relationship might not be as fake as he had previously thought. He wants to nail down exactly what Potter means when he says that Draco does have him. But Harry is right. This is a party and they need to go and socialize and keep up their cover that might not be a cover after all.

...

Harry feels as though a great weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He hadn't meant to tell Draco about his feelings for him, but the moment had come up and Harry couldn't bear to hurt him again with a lie. He knows they need to talk about this more - it's complicated after all - but at least now Draco knows that when Harry holds his hand, it's because he likes him and not because he feels like he has to keep up a charade.

They do, of course, still need to keep up their charade. So, once they've gotten two glasses of punch, Harry presses Draco up against an upright coffin in the living room, and kisses him until Greg walks in and loudly tells them to get a room.

"We're in character," Draco informs him. Greg frowns at them, taking in their cowboy hats and jeans.

"Brokeback Mountain?"

"Bingo."

"What are you supposed to be?" Draco asks. Greg is dressed in a very padded green and blue sports uniform complete with helmet and ice skates. There is a large white W with what looks like a tail above it splashed across the front.

"A hockey player," Greg says proudly. He spins and Draco can see that he is in fact hovering a few centimeters off of the floor in his skates.

"How did you do that?" he asks, gesturing at the skates.

"A little levitation charm," Greg says with a shrug. "I've been practicing in them all week." He turns again and skates through the air away from them, then turns and skates back.

"I think you win," Harry says. "That's a great costume." Greg's face lights up in a smile.

"Of course," Draco says with a smirk. "It will be hilarious when he gets drunk and falls over." Greg scowls at him but concedes that he has a point.

…

A moment later, Harry is hailed by a pair of zombies and he drags Draco away. Inwardly, Draco sighs, realizing this party won't be like Hannah's other parties where he and Greg had spent most of their night trying to teach people Exploding Gobstones Snap, but instead will include socializing with Harry and any of the guests Harry knows. He is oddly sad about this.

Harry hugs the male zombie and Draco realizes with a start that it is Ron Weasley. He looks more closely at the female zombie and sees that it is Granger. Great. No party is ever complete without your boss.

"Ah, Malfoy," Weasley says. "So you're the reason we haven't seen Harry in months." Draco forces a smile onto his face.

"Guilty as charged."

"Ron," Granger says, taking Weasley's arm. "You've also been busy with work." Weasley waves her off.

"Details," he says, but he leans over and kisses her cheek conciliatorily. Without thinking about it, Draco reaches over and takes Harry's hand. Harry squeezes his fingers and warmth spreads through Draco's chest.

"How is work?" Harry asks. Weasley shrugs.

"Fine. But no one wants to talk about work, Harry. I want to hear about you two." He gestures between Harry and Draco. "When Hermione told me you were together, I didn't believe her until she showed me the Witch Weekly cover and then it was hard _not_ to believe it." Weasley winks at Harry in a way that is meant to seem casual but Draco can tell that he is still unnerved by their relationship.

Draco can hardly blame him. The last time Draco had really seen the redhead was at the Battle of Hogwarts, and it had been a less than stellar appearance on Draco's part. True, he hadn't tried to kill any of them the way that Crabbe had, but he had rather stuffed up the situation all the same, trying to kidnap Harry to win favor for his family.

Images of Fiendfyre crackle in front of his eyes and he does his best to repress a shudder. He grips Harry's hand more tightly, willing the flashback to end, willing it to not ruin his night. _Harry saved you_ , he thinks desperately. _Remember the part where he scooped you up and flew you out of the room._ He is clutching Harry's hand so hard now that Harry turns to look at him in concern. He forces a smile onto his face. He doesn't want to make a scene.

"Who wants a drink?" Harry asks. Weasley's eyes light up and the four of them turn towards the kitchen.

Once Weasley is distracted by the Kreacher run bar ("Kreacher working, Harry? Blimey."), Harry turns to Draco.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly. Draco nods. He is now. He stares into Harry's eyes as his breathing slows to a normal rate again. Harry leans forward and kisses him gently on his temple and then rests their foreheads together for a moment. Draco breathes in Harry's bergamot and citrus scent. He pulls back and knocks the rest of his drink back and gestures towards the bar. Harry nods.

…

Pansy shifts uneasily from foot to foot. She knows she shouldn't be nervous. This, after all the things she's done in her career, is nothing. And yet…

But Greg had invited her, saying that it would be fun.

And so Pansy is dressed as a cat, standing on Hannah Abbott's doorstep. Behind her stand Joe and Luca, who had seized upon the fact that _another_ coworker was going to Hannah's party and had followed her. They had assured her that they had been invited, but she is not sure, and that's another reason for her nerves.

The door swings open and Pansy is greeted by a vision in white. The figure seems to have its own light source and Pansy puts a hand up in front of her eyes in an attempt to block it. The light fades and Pansy recognizes Hannah, in spite of the waist-length blond hair and still faintly glowing white dress.

"The Lady Galadriel welcomes you," Hannah says, gesturing for them to enter. Once they are inside, she breaks character and greets Pansy warmly. Pansy smiles and follows her down the corridor while she chatters on about Greg and Draco. Pansy has of course seen Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron with the pair of them, but she never stays as late as Potter, so she still feels slightly awkward. She had been a bitch to Hannah during Hogwarts, but if Hannah had been offended by her, she has never shown it.

"Anyway, it's so good to see you," Hannah says, finishing her long monologue. Pansy realizes she hasn't really listened to any of it. She has been too distracted by both the decorations, which are amazing, and her own feelings of schooltime regret.

"Yes, it's good to see you too," she says, smiling and realizing she doesn't have to fake it. A man with long blond hair, green clothing and a bow walks up to them. Pansy stares at him. It takes her a moment to realize that it's Ernie MacMillen under the elf costume.

"MacMillen," she acknowledges, with a nod of her head.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Ernie," he says, grinning at her. "Let's get you a drink." He takes her by the arm and steers her away through another highly decorated room and to a bar that's being manned by the grumpiest house elf Pansy thinks she's ever seen. It is there that she finds Potter and Draco. Much to her displeasure, they are with Granger and Weasley, who are dressed as such convincing zombies that she reaches for her wand for a second.

She waits until she has a drink in hand before she greets them, and once the alcohol starts to hit her bloodstream, she realizes that this party might not be as terrible as she thought it was going to be. So long as she can avoid Joe and Luca.

"Nice costume," says a voice behind her. "Didn't think we would actually see you here." She turns around to find Greg towering over her. He has grown since she saw him at work and she looks down to see that he is wearing ice skates and hovering several millimeters off of the floor.

"Meow," she says in response. Greg smiles.

"Care to go for a spin?" he asks.

"Excuse me?"

"On my ice skates."

"How?" But the rest of her sentence is cut off as Greg lifts her off the floor and places her feet over his. They are on eye level now and she arches an eyebrow at him. "This is rather forward, isn't it?"

"Relax, Pans," he says. "I'm not trying to hit on you."

"Then why are our noses so close?"

"Would you _like_ me to hit on you?"

"No."

"Then just think of this as a spin around the dance floor between friends." Greg turns them around and they glide over the floor to a cleared space that's bordered by gravestones. Pansy clutches at the front of Greg's jersey and he wraps his arms around her waist to stop her from falling.

"You're sure you're not hitting on me?"

"I'm pretty sure you would hex my balls off if I did, what, seeing as you're a hit wizard and all." Pansy stiffens in surprise and Greg looks pleadingly at her. "Please don't confund me again."

"What?" she splutters. "How?"

"A well placed protego. Joe, on the other hand, is fully convinced you're just a Flourish and Blott's employee like the rest of us."

"So what is this then?" she asks. "A shakedown?" At this, Greg laughs and spins them around, causing Pansy to clutch at him again. She should really just step off of his feet, but she can't quite bring herself to do it.

"It's an intimate conversation."

"In which case, is that a Dark Mark on your arm?" Greg's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and they slowly stop spinning.

"Yes. How did you-"

"-Know? I saw it in Seventh Year." He takes a moment to digest this and then nods slowly.

"Then you know I was young and stupid," he says quietly. They are still now. Pansy could just shrug out of his arms and walk away, but she doesn't.

"I know," she says.

"And I'm not that person anymore."

"I know."

"Good," he says. "Now tell me what you're investigating." Pansy can't help it. She bursts out laughing.

"Seriously? That's your tactic?" Greg looks sheepish. "Do you even know what my rank is? I'm a Major. You can't pull that kind of shit on me."

"Major, huh?"

"Yes. And you would do damn well to remember that."

"Then what the hell are you doing working at Flourish and Blott's?" He pushes off with one leg and starts to move them around the floor again, holding her tight.

"Circe, Greg. Do you really think this is going to make me tell you? It's none of your damn business."

"Is it me? Is it because of that?" He nods his head in the direction of his left arm, but does not let go of her. They are circling the dance floor quite quickly now, and people have stopped to watch. So Pansy laughs, playing it off like they're just having fun.

Greg frowns at her and she flicks her eyes towards the now gathering crowd. He slows and they stop in the middle of the floor. She jumps delicately down from his feet and bows to the onlookers. They clap and she takes Greg's hand and leads him to a room with various small seating areas. She pushes him down onto a couch and then sits down next to him.

"Now obviously I can't tell you why I'm working at the bookstore, but don't worry, it has nothing to do with you."

"But you would say that even if it did." She sighs.

"Well, yes. But really, it's nothing to do with you. Now drop it or I'll confund you again."

"Is that a threat?" he asks.

"Yes, you idiot."

"Ok, I'll drop it." He raises his hands in surrender. "But I'll have you know, I'm not an idiot. I'm just quiet. Crabbe was the idiot."

"Whatever you say, Goyle," she says and he stiffens. Pansy is surprised to realize that this is the first thing he's really been upset about during their whole conversation.

"Don't call me that," he says. "Please just call me Greg."

"If it bothers you so much, why don't you change your name?"

"I can't. The Ministry forbids former Death Eaters from changing their names. Something to do with still having to atone for our crimes." Pansy nods. She had forgotten about the Avery law. After all, none of her family had been Death Eaters, so they hadn't had to deal with it.

Greg leans back, sighing deeply. Then he lifts up his head to look at her.

"That got dark fast," he says and cracks a smile.

"You started it," she says. "By kidnapping me on your ice skates." He claps a hand to his chest.

"You wound me. It was a dance between friends."

"D'you want another drink?" she asks.

"Why not? It's a party." She leaves him and walks back to the bar. The previously grumpy house elf is animatedly bowing to Draco. Pansy sidles up to Draco and nudges him.

"Do you think you can ask your friend here to make me two old fashioneds?"

"Two old fashioneds for Master Draco's friend?" the elf croaks. "Certainly." He busies himself with bottles and Pansy turns to Draco.

"Master Draco?" she asks. "Since when did you have a house elf?"

"He's Harry's," Draco says. "But he likes me better because my mother was a Black."

"Filthy blood traitor Potter," the elf mumbles but there is no real venom behind it. Pansy bites back a laugh. The elf pushes two drinks towards her and she picks them up. She nods goodbye at Draco and makes her way back to Greg.

She finds him where she left him, leaning back, his arms spread wide over the back of the couch cushions. His face lights up as she approaches though she's not sure if he's excited to see her or the alcohol. He sits forward and moves his arms, freeing up space for her to sit.

"I think I've figured it out," Greg says.

"Figured what out?"

"Why you're working with us." Pansy sighs.

"Have you?"

"You're protecting Draco." Pansy keeps her face impassive but her pulse speeds up. She wonders if she can get to her wand out to confund him before he realizes what she is doing. But before she can make a decision, he continues speaking. "You know, because he's dating Harry, so he's more high profile." It's close to the truth, still but different enough that it shouldn't jeopardize Draco's identity as the Reliquary.

"I can neither confirm nor deny this," Pansy says. Greg pumps his fist in success.

"I knew it." She smirks at him. "Damn, I guess Harry's still important then." Pansy says nothing and instead takes a sip of her drink. She notes, with curiosity, that both Draco and Greg call Potter by his first name. She supposes that it has been a few months and Potter does spend a lot of time with them, but she finds it curious nonetheless.

"So what's it like?" Pansy asks, changing the subject. "Living with the pair of them?" Greg shrugs.

"Fine. They are fairly inseparable, so I see a lot of Harry, but other than that, things seem to be mostly the same." Pansy nods. This is good. So long as Greg doesn't think Draco's life has changed in any way other than dating Potter, his cover is fine. "It does get a bit lonely sometimes, being their third wheel." Pansy is not sure if he is trying to insinuate anything, so she stays quiet. If he wants to say something, he can say it on his own. She is not going to lead him on. "You should join us more often."

"Should I?"

"Though, I suppose you're probably busy most nights," he says. "Major." She claps a hand over his mouth.

"Careful," she hisses. "You'll blow my cover." He reaches up and pulls her hand away, but does not let go of it. She finds that she's not sure if she wants to take it away.

On the one hand, she should, because nothing good will likely come from this. But on the other? It's been so long since she's been with anyone. And Greg is nice, and he's not too hard on the eyes.

For the first time since joining the Flourish and Blott's team, she looks at him properly. He has aged into his looks, in a way that he never could have in school. His face has lost any of the baby fat he had and his cheekbones are now pronounced. He had always been larger than Draco, but now it is because he has muscles and not just bulk.

"Pansy! Greg!" An excited Luca and Joe walk into the room and make a beeline for them. Pansy groans and the smile slowly fades from Greg's face.

"Lads," he says. He drops Pansy's hand and Pansy finds herself more annoyed at the pair than she ever has been before. Of course, they're harmless, but right now, they are the enemy. So she quietly pulls out her wand and sends a silent trip jinx their way. In the ensuing scuffle, she grabs Greg's hand and pulls him first into a standing position and then down the corridor and into another room.

This room is wreathed in fog and fake ghouls float around at head height, occasionally bumping into the walls and each other. Pansy and Greg weave their way through the ghouls to an empty corner and then, once they are sure they haven't been followed, they burst into laughter. The fog dampens the noise.

"Did you trip them?" Greg asks through his guffaws.

"Of course," she says. She is laughing so hard that she has to lean on his chest to support herself. Or, at least, that's what she wants him to think.

He certainly notices her, because he wraps a cautious arm around her back and does not move it when she finally stops laughing and straightens up. She looks up at him. She is shorter than he is again, as she is no longer standing on his skates, and she has to crane her neck to see his face.

"Hi," he says softly. He puts his other arm around her waist.

"Are you hitting on me?" she asks again.

"I don't know. Do you want me to?" She makes a split second decision.

"Yes."


	19. Draco Versus Halloween Part 2

"You really care for him don't you?" Hermione had cornered Harry while Draco and Ron were at the bar getting them more drinks. They are sitting in a room that Harry could only describe as 'creepy drawing room', but that Hermione had assured him was the sitting room from the Adams Family. As soon as they had entered, they had been turned to monochrome. It makes Hermione look even more like something from the Night of the Living Dead.

"Yeah, Hermione, I do," Harry says, leaning forward. "And I tell you this not as my boss but as my friend." As soon as he says it, he's sure it's the wrong thing to say.

"Oh Harry," she says with a sigh.

"Just like I care about you and Ron," he adds.

"So like a friend?"

"Draco and I _are_ friends," he says. They are more than that, but he's never going to tell her that. The thought saddens him.

"I mean, I should hope so, mate. You're dating him." Harry looks up with a start to realize that Ron is standing in front of him. He is clutching a clear tumbler of a dark liquid and an enameled tiki mug with an embossed, colorfully-painted monkey along its side. He hands the tumbler to Hermione and then takes a slurp from the straw sticking out of the tiki mug.

"Harry?" asks a voice from the doorway. "Ron? Hermione?" The three of them turn to look and see Seamus Finnegan standing there (dressed as a leprechaun). Harry jumps up, runs to the irishman and throws his arms around him. The three of them pile around him, and then greet Dean Thomas (who is wearing a Michael Jackson Thriller costume) equally as warmly when they find he is standing right behind Seamus. Draco waves at them from afar, but keeps his distance.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says once the greetings have died down. "It's been too long."

"It's always too long, Har'," Seamus says. "So when Hannah invited me, I just couldn't say no."

"Hannah told me the whole DA is invited," Dean adds, his face lighting up. Harry grins.

"The whole DA?" Hermione asks. "Even Ginny?" She looks nervously at Harry and then, after a moment, at Dean.

"Ginny and I are friends," Harry says firmly. He does not look at Ron. Ron does not look at him. Draco picks this moment, perhaps the worst of moments, to walk over to them.

"Hello," he says, breaking the awkward silence that has sprung up.

"Hey Draco," Seamus says. "How are you?" He crosses the space between them and pulls Draco into a quick, one armed hug and it is only because Harry has trained as an Unspeakable and has worked very hard on keeping his emotions in check that the surprise that he feels does not show on his face.

But, Harry tells himself, before The Reliquary, he had not seen Draco in ten years. Of course he might have friends that Harry doesn't know about. And of course one of those friends could be Seamus Finnegan, one of the friendliest people Harry knows.

Dean and Seamus leave to go get drinks and Hermione sidles up to Harry.

"Are you sure it's going to be alright if Ginny shows up?" she asks in his ear.

"Yes," Harry says firmly - more firmly than he feels, for he worries that Ginny will take one look at Draco and do her infamous Bat Bogey hex on him. "We're both adults and we've been broken up for years now."

Harry and Ginny, as it turned out, had been better together when their time in each other's company had been limited. After the war, with nothing stopping them from seeing each other all the time, they had quickly realized that familiarity bred contempt. They had fared better once Ginny had been accepted onto the Hollyhead Harpies, for she was traveling with the team for large swathes of time, but that was also their downfall. It was during one of her away matches that Harry had stumbled across the club he had taken Draco to and realized that actually, he rather preferred men.

Ginny had taken it as well as could be expected. She had been rightfully upset, but had realized that Harry couldn't help liking who he liked. However she has never actually seen him with anyone else. None of his previous relationships have been this public, or even public at all. And Harry isn't sure how she will react.

But when Ginny arrives ten minutes later, she is nothing but happy for Harry.

"It was a surprise seeing you on the cover of Witch Weekly, of course," she says once she has a gin and tonic in her hand. "But you looked so happy that I couldn't help but be pleased for you." She puts a hand briefly on his arm and smiles at him. Across the circle of people, he sees Draco stiffen. He jerks his head, indicating that Draco should join them, and the blond does.

"Draco, I'm sure you remember Ginny," he says. Ginny holds out her hand and Draco takes it without hesitation.

"Weasley," he says with a nod of his head.

"Oh please," she cries with a laugh. "We've both seen Harry's cock. Call me Ginny." Draco lifts one eyebrow at her and she smirks back at him.

"Oh shit," Harry mutters as Ginny links her arm in Draco's and drags him off to gossip. "What have I done?"

...

"Greg," Draco calls, walking from room to room looking for his friend. Ginny is in tow. "We have someone who wants to learn Exploding Gobstones Snap." The alcohol in his system is telling him this is the most important thing in the world right now. Ginny is chattering in his ear as he looks for Greg and Draco is surprised to realize he is enjoying her company.

He had half thought that spending time with Harry's ex might be awkward, but Ginny is nothing but friendly. The part of his brain that thinks that he is still in Slytherin wonders if it is all an act, aimed at getting his guard down so that she can destroy him later. And he puts his guard up.

He is glad that he is already thinking about controlling his emotions because he nearly yells in surprise when he finds Greg and Pansy locked in a passionate embrace, their faces pressed together. He stops walking, staring at the pair of them, his jaw on the floor. Then he pulls himself together and turns to Ginny.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asks in a low voice.

"You mean those two acting like sixth year Hufflepuffs who have just discovered fire whiskey and hormones?"

"Yes. That."

"Yep," she says. "That's happening." Draco slaps a hand to his forehead.

"I'll have to teach you Exploding Gobstones Snap on my own then." He takes her by the arm and they make their way out of the room. Draco keeps his eyes on Greg the entire time but Greg does not look up. (But then, why would he?)

"Draco, there you are." They have walked out into the hallway and right into Harry, the other Weasley and Granger.

"Do you want to play Exploding Gobstones Snap?" Draco asks. Greg is temporarily gone from his mind as he concentrates solely on the thing he wants to do with his evening. Or, at least, the one thing he wants to do while keeping his clothes on.

"What's that?" Granger asks. Draco opens his mouth to answer, but Ginny, who has clearly been listening to Draco rattle off the rules, explains it before he has a chance. He stares at her, his mouth still open, impressed.

"So it involves drinking, exploding snap _and_ gobstones?" Ron asks. Draco realizes with a flash of irritation that he can't just call Ron by his surname as there are multiple Weasleys at this party. Then he supposes that he should go ahead and call Granger by her first name as well. They're Harry's friends, and though they haven't seen much of them since they started pretend dating, he gets the feeling they will going forward.

"Yes, and there are very sensible and not at all ridiculous rules that go along with it," Draco says.

"The best kind of game rules," Ron says and Draco finds himself warming somewhat to the redhead. Somewhat.

...

"Oh, fuck me," Ron says as a Gobstone sprays him in the face.

"Drink," Harry intones. "Once for the stone and once for the swearing."

"Yes, well, _Potter_ ," Draco says. "Imbibe. You said the "D" word." Ginny laughs into her cup. Seamus points at Harry and nudges Dean. Draco sighs and points at Seamus using his elbow. "You too, Finnegan," he says. "Pointing." Seamus scrunches up his face in irritation as everyone laughs. Draco turns over the next card in the pile and the whole thing explodes.

"Swallow it, Mr. Malfoy," Harry says, smirking at him and gesturing to Draco's cup with his head. Draco scowls but downs the rest of his drink as dictated by the rules. He notes, with interest, that Harry has absorbed the rules, and then wonders if he had used the word drink on purpose so that he might have to imbibe as well.

"Oh, fuck you, Potter," Draco says, swearing in spite of the rules.

"You can later," Harry says with a wink and Draco's stomach turns over in excitement. He's not sure if Harry means it or not - they haven't discussed what it means that Harry said he was Draco's. Does he get to fuck Potter again? Whenever he wants? Circe, he hopes it means that. But for now, he has to play along for their cover and not think about it too much. So he smirks at Harry and the game, and conversation, moves along.

...

"It's been a while," Seamus says to Draco later in the evening. The game had ended a short while earlier and most people have dispersed into other rooms. Draco has lost track of Harry but is sure he will find him before the evening is out. Harry won't let him walk the few meters across the street to his own house alone after all.

"It has," Draco agrees. "How have you been?" Seamus is Draco's account manager at Ashe bank, one of the smaller Wizarding banks that had popped up after Harry, Ron and Hermione had broken into, and subsequently out of, Gringotts during the war. Ashe's had been the first bank that would accept Draco as a client, in part because Seamus had taken a chance on him. Over the months of working through mortgage paperwork, they had become friends. In fact, Seamus was the first guest Draco had ever had over at his house for dinner. (Hannah had been the second, while they planned the Leaky Cauldron makeover.)

Of course, Draco had made the dinner slightly awkward by clumsily hitting on Seamus after too many glasses of wine, but Seamus had been gracious about it. He stops by the bookstore from time to time, but Draco hasn't seen him since he started fake dating Harry. (Or is it real dating now?)

They make small talk about work for a while before Seamus nudges him and says,

"So, you and Harry then?" Draco flushes and nods.

"Yes," he says.

"Six years I shared a dorm with that man, and never once did I get the impression that he liked blokes," Seamus says, shaking his head. "Granted, I didn't get the impression he was much interested in anyone."

"Oh?" Draco says, more to be polite than anything else.

"Alas," Seamus says. "Missed opportunity." Draco lifts an eyebrow at him and Seamus pats him reassuringly on the arm. "Not that I would try anything now."

"I didn't know you swung that way."

"I swing all ways," Seamus says with a wink.

"So we could have-" Draco starts to say, but Seamus cuts him off.

"-It would have been ill advised."

"Of course. I didn't mean-" he stops himself there and Seamus smiles at him.

"Plus, then you might not have found Harry." Draco can't argue about that. "How did you two get together anyway? Last I heard he was with Ginny Weasley."

"My ears are burning," the aforementioned redhead says. She has been in conversation with Hermione, standing behind Seamus, but Draco hadn't noticed her. "Someone must be taking about me." Seamus flushes. He mumbles something to do with Harry, that Draco can't quite catch, but Ginny clearly does because she laughs and pats Seamus on the arm.

"Oh, no," she says. "Harry and I haven't been together for years." Draco extricates himself from the conversation, worried that Ginny's magnanimity towards him will fade if he stays. She had insisted to him earlier that she was over Harry, but Draco isn't sure anyone can ever truly get over Harry.

He wanders the party in search of the brunet, but instead runs into Greg. He is no longer attached at the mouth to Pansy, something that Draco is grateful for. In fact, she is nowhere to be seen.

"Are you going back to Harry's tonight?" Greg asks. He says it casually, but Draco feels like it is a leading question.

"We hadn't discussed it. Why?"

"Well, uh, can you?" Greg scratches the back of his head like this conversation isn't a big deal. He clearly doesn't know that Draco, and quite frankly a lot of people, saw him and Pansy earlier. Or perhaps he is just not thinking about it.

"Sure," Draco says. "Do you want to tell me why you're asking?" Greg flushes crimson. It contrasts with his green jersey.

"No," he says, but he can't keep the smile off of his face. It is infectious, and Draco finds himself smiling too.

"Have fun with Pansy," Draco says. He claps Greg briefly on the arm and then walks away. He spots Pansy standing behind a decorative ghoul and he gives her a thumbs up. She scowls at him and he winks but walks past her. It is not her that he is looking for, after all.

He finally spots Harry walking up the stairs in conversation with Ron. He follows them at a distance, not wanting to interrupt. He frowns as they climb the stairs to the third floor and then laughs as Ron catches sight of the third floor corridor and promptly runs back down the stairs, pushing past Draco in his hurry.

"That seems rather mean," Draco says, walking up to Harry who is doubled over laughing. "Irrational fears are nothing to scoff at, even if they are of spiders."

"If I hadn't brought him up here, he would never have seen it," Harry says.

"So? He would have been happier for it."

"Are you on Ron's side?" Harry asks. He seems genuinely curious.

"So what if I am," Draco replies haughtily. He crosses his arms in front of his chest to make his point.

"Ooh, Draco," Harry coos. "I didn't know you had this soft side."

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco snaps. "You most certainly did." He crosses the space between them and wraps his arms around Harry's waist. Harry turns his face to him and smirks.

"That's true," he says. "And it's quite lovely." Harry leans in and captures Draco's lips with his. And Draco is in heaven. Because he's quite sure that Harry means it. That this kiss is real. (And that perhaps some of their earlier kisses may have been?)

He pulls Harry closer to himself, if that's possible, and deepens their kiss. He reaches up with a hand and rests it against Harry's cheek, gently brushing Harry's face with his thumb. He feels Harry relax into the kiss and pushes his tongue into the space between Harry's teeth and his upper lip. This elicits a moan from the brunet and Draco smiles into the kiss. He feels Harry's hand move slowly down his back until it is resting on his arse.

"Oh, sorry," says a dreamy voice behind Harry. "Am I interrupting something?" Draco reluctantly pulls himself away and sees Luna Lovegood standing there. She is dressed as a multicolored unicorn. An uncomfortable knot forms in Draco's stomach. He hasn't seen Lovegood sine the war. Anytime she has come into the bookstore, he has hidden in the back room, too ashamed to face her after his family kept her in their cellar for months.

"Hi Luna," Harry says brightly.

"Hi Harry." She waves at him. "Hi Draco." Draco blinks at her. There is no dislike in her tone.

"Uh, hello," he says.

"Ron mentioned you were up here," she says, more to Harry than to Draco. "But I didn't realize you were busy."

"We weren't," Harry says quickly.

"It's ok if you want to have time with your lover." Draco bites his tongue so as not to laugh at Lovegood's use of the word lover. "Mine is downstairs."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she says. "His name is Rolf. We met while I was out on my travels. We were both attempting to study the same thunderbird nest in Arizona, and kept running into each other's observation posts, but instead of fighting about it, we decided it was best to work together. Unfortunately, we missed the hatching of one of the thunderbird chicks as it happened during the time of our first coupling-"

"-That's fascinating, Luna," Harry says, cutting her off. "He sounds like a lovely fellow."

"Oh, he is." She continues to stand there, staring at Draco in interest, for a long moment. Then she says, "By the way, Draco, you don't have to hide when I come into Flourish and Blott's."

"I don't," he stammers. "I don't hide."

"You do," she says bluntly. "But I wish you wouldn't. Rolf says you are the most helpful person there."

"Sorry," Draco says to his feet. "I just feel so bad about-"

"-The war?"

"Yes." He still can't look at her and so is surprised to see her feet come into view in front of him. She is wearing shoes that make her feet look like unicorn hooves. He looks up as she reaches forward to hug him.

"I forgive you," she says into his ear.

"But," he stammers.

"I didn't think you really wanted to be there anyway. You always seemed so scared." It is such a reflection of what he and Harry had been talking about earlier that Draco half wonders if Harry had asked her to do this. But even if he did, it feels nice.

"I didn't," he mumbles. "But I'm still sorry." Tears threaten again, encouraged both by the alcohol in his bloodstream and Luna's words.

"Well that's settled then," she says, releasing him. "And now you can help me at the bookstore!" She smiles at him and he nods. "Great! That Joe fellow is nice but he doesn't know anything about magizoology." Her apparent mission accomplished, Luna wanders off again, turning after a moment and heading back downstairs. Draco watches her as she skips down each stair, the mane of her unicorn costume bobbing behind her.

"Did you put her up to that?" Draco asks Harry once she is out of earshot.

"No, but that is a very Luna thing to do."

"Does she often use the word lover?" Draco asks, unable to keep an amused smile from crossing his face.

"Not a clue," Harry says. "But perhaps I should start using it." He reaches out and pulls Draco against him again. "Lover. Hmm. Lover boy."

"Oh dear god," Draco says. "No."

"Lover boy," Harry says again. He opens his mouth to say it again, so Draco shuts him up by kissing him.

"D'you want to get out of here?" Harry asks once Draco pulls away and Draco's grin is answer enough.

...

They are barely through Harry's front door when Harry pushes Draco against the closest wall and presses their lips together. His hands fumble at Draco's coat, trying clumsily to undo the zipper. He has months of pent up longing and Draco doesn't seem to mind. Indeed, the blond is eagerly mirroring Harry's actions.

"Wait," Harry says, pulling away for a moment. He is breathless. "We should go upstairs."

"Are you taking me to bed, Potter?"

"Of course I'm fucking taking you to bed," Harry growls. He scoops Draco up in his arms and before Draco can say anything, Harry has apparated them up to the master bedroom where they tumble onto the bed.

...

A moment later, Harry's lips crash into Draco's with a force that takes Draco's breath away. He returns the kisses with the same vigor, pulling Harry firmly against his body. His hand ends up resting on Harry's arse and he gives it a small squeeze.

Harry responds by pushing Draco onto his back and straddling him. As Harry leans down to kiss him, Draco tenses his abs and rises up to meet him. Harry smiles against his mouth and pushes him back down again. Draco feels Harry's fingers scrabbling for purchase on the buttons of his shirt and reaches to help.

"Do your own shirt," he growls.

"Are you telling me what to do now?" Harry asks.

"Yes. I am clearly in charge."

"Of course," Harry agrees. "Flat on my back is my most powerful position too."

"Do you want to fuck me or not?"

"Who said anything about fucking?" Harry asks, the side of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Draco relinquishes his buttons and puts his hand over the outline of Harry's cock through his jeans.

"You did," he says as Harry bucks slightly. Harry finishes undoing the buttons on his flannel shirt and slips it off of his shoulders, letting it drop onto the bed next to Draco. Draco bites his lip, looking up at him, and then reaches out and runs one hand over Harry's toned stomach. He pushes Harry away while he pulls his arms out of his own shirt. He is desperate for the feel of Harry's naked torso against his.

Once Draco's shirt is gone, Harry leans down again and begins kissing the side of Draco's neck. He slowly makes his way down Draco's torso, kissing and nipping as he goes, until he reaches the waistband of Draco's trousers. He pauses there, staring up at Draco with unconcealed lust in his eyes.

"Yes, carry on," Draco says. Harry raises an eyebrow at him.

"What did we decide about who was in charge?" he asks.

"It's me," Draco says. "I am in charge. Because you are clearly lusting after me right now, so I hold the upper hand."

"Mm," Harry says. "Sure you do. And if I just stopped." He sits back on his thighs, away from Draco. "You would be ok with this?" Draco regards him coolly for a moment before shrugging.

"If you are," he says. He shifts slightly under Harry and sees a spasm of desire flash across Harry's face again. And he knows he has him. He jerks his hips up and is rewarded by Harry's raised eyebrow again.

"Is that how it is?" the brunet asks.

"Yes."

Draco looks Harry square in the face as he continues to move ever so slightly under him. After what feels like an age, Harry lowers himself back down to Draco's level. He kisses him briefly before moving down his body again. This time, he catches the waistband of Draco's trousers between his teeth and tugs. Nothing happens. Draco lifts his hips up and Harry tries again, before Draco bats him away and pulls down his trousers on his own, bringing his underwear with them.

"You too," he says, as his cock bobs loose from its cloth confinement.

"As you wish," Harry says. He clambers off of Draco and shimmies out of his jeans. And for half a second, Draco is nervous. It's been so long since that first night.

But then Harry throws his trousers to the side and lowers himself back over Draco. He hovers above him for a moment, teasing, before his lips meet Draco's again so hard that Draco is afraid they will bruise. But he doesn't mind. He has wanted to do this for months. But now is not the time to dwell on his agonizing over Harry Potter. Now is the time to run his hands down Harry Potter's perfect back to then rest them on Harry Potter's perfect naked arse.

He gasps as Harry gently nibbles his bottom lip. Harry pulls back for a moment, a wicked gleam in his eye, but Draco isn't having any of that. He sits up slightly, pressing their mouths back together. For good measure, he gives Potter's arse another good squeeze and feels Harry smile into the kisses. He lets his fingers slide into the cleft of Harry's butt cheeks and hears Harry moan ever so softly. And if he hadn't been turned on already, he sure as hell is now.

He shifts again under Harry, grinding their matching erections together.

"Oh yes," Harry says. This voice is heavy with desire.

"Yes, what?" Draco asks.

"Yes, I want you."

"I guess we're in agreement then," Draco says.

Their lips meet again and this time neither of them hold back. Whatever restraint they had shown thus far (very little, if any) is gone. Draco feels practically devoured as Harry licks, sucks and nibbles his way around his neck. He hopes Potter won't leave a mark, though a small part of him hopes he will. Harry had said that Draco had Harry, but Draco would argue that Harry has Draco too and he wants the world to know it.

He gasps in delight as he feels Harry wrap a hand around his dick. He moans and thrusts into it.

"Not so fast," Harry says, loosening his grip. Draco pouts at him. "No," Harry insists. "You're not allowed to come yet."

"What are you trying to say?"Draco asks.

"Nothing, I just want you to be inside me when you do." A thrill of excitement goes through Draco.

"Ok," he says.

"First though," Harry says, pulling back for a moment. The brunet reaches over him and scrabbles around in the bedside drawer with his hand. He pulls out a tube of lube and then grins down at Draco. "Now where were we?"

"I wasn't allowed to finish yet," Draco supplies. Harry nods. He opens the tube and squeezes some of the lube into his hand, which he then wraps around Draco's cock, slathering it.

"Do you want to?" Harry gestures with his hands to indicate that they should switch positions.

"What?" Draco asks, momentarily confused. "Oh. Yes." Harry rolls off of him, onto the bed beside him and spreads his knees wide. Draco needs no more invitation.

He shifts until he is hovering over Harry, his shoulders taught, holding himself up. He bites his lip as Harry grasps his cock with a slippery hand. He looks down and sees that Harry's other hand is working, gently opening up his hole, finger by finger. He closes his eyes and thinks about anything other than being inside Harry. He can't get too excited now or he'll never last. And he wants to savor this.

He shifts his weight to one arm and then pushes Harry's hand away, off of his cock. The head is already slick with both lube and pre-come. With his free hand, he reaches over and pushes a lock of Harry's hair off of his forehead. Then he steadies himself on two arms again and leans down to kiss Harry. Harry's mouth opens for him and he worries Harry's lower lip between his teeth. Harry moans and Draco gently releases him.

"I'm ready for you," Harry says.

"You sure?"

"Fuck me, Malfoy," Harry whispers. Draco shivers with anticipation. Harry reaches down and grasps him again, guiding him into position. Draco pauses, poised above him for a moment before slowly pushing himself in, centimeter by centimeter. He watches Harry's face as he does, taking in his slightly glazed expression, his brilliantly green eyes and his sweaty, messy hair.

Once he is all the way inside, his balls resting against Harry's arse, he stills. Harry is so tight around him he is almost afraid he will come just from holding himself still. He can feel Harry clenching and unclenching around him and it sends shivers of desire through him.

"Are you okay?" he asks. Harry bites his lip and nods. Harry's hands are now on his own erection, and as Draco begins to move his hips, Harry strokes himself to the same rhythm.

"Yes," Draco breathes. The sight of Harry's hands on himself while Draco is inside him is so intoxicating that Draco knows he will be using this mental image with his own hand for months to come. Except, he might not have to.

Oh, Circe. If they can do this every night, Draco's not sure they're ever going to get much sleep.

He feels that he could do this forever. He could stay in bed with Harry and never leave, perhaps occasionally summoning Kreacher to bring them meals. In his mind's eye he can see Harry, spread out the way he is, but bathed in golden sunlight and he _wants that_. He wants this to be real. He wants the feelings they have to be real.

But now is not the time for feelings. Now is the time for actions.

Draco picks up the pace, watching Harry's face to make sure that he's fine with that. It is hard to tell. Harry's eyes are closed now and while Draco has seen his orgasm face, it has been a while and the memory is hazy.

"Oh, fuck," Harry moans. "Yes, Draco. That's it. Fuck me." Draco doesn't need telling twice. Any witty response he might have had about the fact that he is, in fact, already fucking him is cut off as Harry abruptly sprays Draco's chest with semen and all of his words devolve into sounds of pleasure.

Draco feels Harry's orgasm spasm around him and he lets himself go over the edge, coming hard into Harry. The feeling takes him over, flooding all of his senses, and he cries out.

It is heaven. Harry is his heaven. He's his world. His sun, moon, stars. Harry is oxygen. He's gravity, and Draco is orbiting him, lucky enough to be in his sphere. It is bliss.

Then he collapses, spent, onto Harry who is equally gone. Draco slides slowly out of him, and they lay there for a long moment, their sweat and spunk mingling. Draco kisses Harry's damp forehead.

"Oh my god," he whispers.

And that's when they hear the scream.


	20. Draco Versus the Muuuurder

"What the hell was that?" Harry asks, suddenly alert. There's another scream and he determines that it's coming from the wall that Harry shares with the house to the left of him. Draco looks at him, eyes wide, and scrambles off of him. Harry says a quick, wordless, wandless spell and they are instantly clean. Draco's skin prickles with the after feeling of the _tergeo._

They dress quickly, putting on items of each other's costume in their rush. The house next door has been silent now for about a minute, but they are both still on edge.

"No, please!" Another scream. "No!" This scream is cut off suddenly. Harry and Draco look at each other for a moment before both nodding. They apparate downstairs to save time and then run out into the street, wands in hand.

Looking at the house next door, there is nothing apparently wrong. The lights are off, same as they were when Harry and Draco stumbled down the street on their way home from Hannah's.

"What should we do?" Draco asks. Harry frowns and then runs back inside. He returns a moment later and throws the invisibility cloak around them.

"Let's take a peek around, just to make sure everything is ok," he whispers. Draco nods and they move together up the stairs to Harry's neighbor's house. Harry taps the door with his wand and whispers,

"Alohamora."

Nothing happens. Harry frowns and tries the doorknob. He finds that it is already unlocked. They creep inside. The house is a mirror of Harry's, and they shuffle from room to room, finding nothing. Harry is starting to think they're not going to find anything when they hear a creak in floorboards above them. As one, they rush to the stairs and up them, taking care to avoid any creaking floorboards themselves.

They hurry along the corridor and Harry throws off the invisibility cloak. He tosses it to Draco who quickly stuffs it into a pocket. They advance, wands raised. The screaming had stopped while they were still next door and has not started up again. There is a knot in Draco's stomach as they reach the end of the corridor.

There is the crash of breaking glass behind the closed door and Harry springs forward. Using his sleeve, he turns the doorknob and throws open the door. It hits the wall with a loud crack. The scene that meets them is grisly. There is blood. A lot of blood. Blood in pools under a pair of bodies. Blood in violent trails along the walls. A blood covered knife lies in the middle of the floor, between the two bodies.

Draco feels bile rise in the back of his throat. He claps a hand to his mouth, willing himself not to be sick. He looks anywhere but at the bodies and notices the broken window. Wind is blowing through it, fluttering the curtains. He wonders if this was the shattering glass they had heard.

There is no one else in the room aside from him and Harry. He walks to the open window and glances outside. His gut is telling him this is how the murderer escaped, but it's a two story drop from the window into the garden. Both common sense and the Reliquary tell him a fall from that height would result in injury, so he waves his wand and mutters "homenum revelio". Nothing shows up. He frowns and gingerly leans forward through the broken window, but there is still nothing. He pulls back inside and turns to Harry.

Harry is standing where Draco left him, peering at one of the bodies. Draco walks over to him and stands beside him. He grits his teeth and looks down. The woman is most definitely dead, her neck cut so deeply open that there is no way that she could be alive. He glances at the other body and sees that it has similar injuries. Harry crouches down and lights his wand, holding it close while he looks at the woman.

"Put your wands where we can see them," comes a voice from the door. Draco's eyes go wide in surprise. He stands, quickly taking stock of how bad this looks. He and Harry have been found in a house that doesn't belong to them, leaning over a corpse. Draco can't think of a single worse way for them to be found.

He turns and complies with the command. He raises his hands in the air, his wand still in one of his pockets, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry do the same. The lumos on Harry's wand projects strange shadows on the wall. The light, however, falls just short of the contingency of wizards that stands in the doorway, all of whom are pointing their own wands at Harry and Draco.

"Harry Potter?" someone asks.

"I can explain," Harry says quickly.

"Of course you can," says an unidentified Hit Wizard.

"We heard a scream," Draco says.

"Ah yes," another voice says. "The boyfriend."

"Please step away from the body," the first Hit Wizard says. Draco does so, taking two large steps towards the door. As he does, the other wizards come into sharper relief. He scowls as he sees Cormac McLaggen among the group.

"May I have your wands please?" McLaggen asks. Draco glances at Harry and sees Harry clench his jaw briefly.

"Of course," he says stiffly. "Nox." The light at the tip of Harry's wand goes out. He hands it to McLaggen, looking for all the world like he would much rather hit the man. Draco hands his wand over as well. He feels more naked without it than he did less than an hour ago when he was actually naked.

"We're going to have to bring you in," McLaggen says. "You do know that, don't you?" Harry regards McLaggen cooly for a moment before nodding.

"I'm aware, McLaggen," he says. "As you recall, I was an auror."

"Yes," McLaggen says. "Then I'm sure you're aware that this is now a Ministry crime scene." Harry nods once. "Since you've been here, using magic, we can't turn it over to the muggles, even though it looks like it was just a common muggle murder."

"I'm aware," Harry says again. Draco glances at him and sees a muscle in his jaw working, betraying the actual irritation that Harry feels.

"Well, come on then," McLaggen says. He gestures towards Harry and Draco and they walk toward him. McLaggen turns and directs the rest of his team to secure the area and to call in the auror squad.

Harry reaches out, takes Draco's hand and squeezes it.

...

"We are going to briefly question you under veritaserum," McLaggen says to Draco once they are safely ensconced in the Ministry.

"Really?" Harry asks. "I didn't think that was protocol." McLaggen sighs.

"It's protocol for ex-Death Eaters," he says quietly. Harry feels a flash of anger go through him. McLaggen is not his favorite person at the best of times and he seems to be enjoying lording his power over Harry. Harry is itching to pull out his Unspeakable badge, but there is no point in blowing his cover over something that appears to be a common murder. He blows a hard breath out through his nose and nods.

"Harry," Draco says, putting a hand on his arm. "It's fine." Harry turns to look at him and Draco flashes him a smile. Harry supposes it might be fine. They did nothing wrong, so there is nothing Draco can say that will incriminate himself. But the injustice still rankles.

"Someone will take your statement in the meantime," McLaggen says. He leans back in his chair and motions for another one of the hit wizards to join them. A young woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun walks over. She gestures for Harry to follow her and he stands. As he passes Draco, he squeezes the blond's shoulder.

…

"Here," McLaggen says, pushing a glass of water across the table to Draco. "Drink this." Draco tamps down any snarky response he might have wanted to say and takes the glass. Still staring at McLaggen, he downs the water in one go. It takes a moment, but then he feels the unmistakable push of the veritaserum at the back of his mind.

"Right then," McLaggen says. He straightens the papers he has in front of him and then looks up at Draco again. "Baseline questions. What is your name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Where do you live?"

"34 Sorella Gardens."

"Profession?"

"I'm the assistant manager at Flourish and Blott's," Draco says. He does not mention his Reliquary work. He's not stupid. He had noticed that Harry had said he _had_ been an auror, not that he is still employed with the Ministry. Perhaps McLaggen doesn't have clearance. But either way, Draco himself is absolute top secret and it's unlikely McLaggen should know about him.

McLaggen seems content with his answers, though he frowns at his papers for a moment more before marking something with his quill and moving on.

"Why were you with Harry Potter tonight?" McLaggen asks. Draco frowns at him.

"What are you getting at McLaggen? Harry's my boyfriend."

"Is he?"

"Yes. I practically live with him."

"Oh that's cute. Do you love him?" McLaggen's tone is mocking.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I do," Draco snaps. But there's none of the expected pain or nausea that he associates with lying under the influence of veritaserum. So it must be true. Well that's interesting. But he doesn't have time to dwell on that because McLaggen continues his questioning almost immediately.

"What do you know about the Reliquary?" Draco keeps his face impassive but his heart rate picks up. Why the hell is McLaggen asking about the Reliquary?

"The what?"

"Don't play stupid with me Malfoy."

"I'm not," Draco says. He makes his eyes as wide and innocent looking as he can, while also fighting down the feeling of nausea that is now rising in him. "I don't know what reliquary you're talking about. I'm not a muggle religion scholar. That's what a reliquary is, right? A thing that holds religious relics?" McLaggen makes a face that displays his irritation.

"Why are you spending so much time with Pansy Parkinson?"

"She's my friend. Or do you not recall from our school days?" Draco is trying very hard to keep his temper in check, but McLaggen is making it difficult.

"That's true. Though at school I thought you were straight." McLaggen leans back in his chair and surveys Draco with his hands clasped behind his head.

"Well obviously I'm not." Draco does not know why McLaggen keeps bringing this up. Perhaps he is in the closet himself. Or maybe he's just homophobic.

"And Potter's bent too?"

"Clearly." McLaggen sits forward again.

"Why did you save Heiligar Mottiç?" Draco is not thrown for a moment by the shift in questioning. It had been a commonly used Slytherin tactic in the common room.

"We saved his life because he was poisoned. What would you have done in our position? Let him die?"

"But why were you there?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm dating a professional celebrity. We were there as public figures. Or, rather, Harry was and I was there as his date."

"And you, what? Just happened to have a bezoar on you?"

"As I said, I'm dating a professional celebrity. We've almost been kidnapped once already - on our first date in fact. So yeah, he's prepared for all kinds of attempts on his life."

"Why were you in that house tonight?"

"We heard a scream, so we went over to try to help. I think trying to help is a natural reaction for Harry."

"How could you have helped?" Draco shrugs.

"I don't know. You and Harry and both Gryffindors. You explain to me how you two think." Draco's patience is all but gone now. McLaggen narrows his eyes at Draco.

"Ha bleedin' ha," he says. "Did you kill them?"

"No. Why the fuck would I kill them? I don't even know who they were."

"Because they were Muggles."

"I don't have any problems with Muggles," Draco says and he is pleased when he feels fine saying this. A part of him had been worried that some of his previous prejudices might still have lingered. But it's true. He doesn't have any problems with Muggles.

"That mark on your arm says differently."

"What? This?" Draco pulls up his sleeve to reveal the small, silver serpent tattooed there. McLaggen frowns.

"I thought-" he starts to say.

"-And even if I _did_ have the mark you think I have, it wouldn't mean shit. People can change. I understand if this is hard for you to comprehend as you're still the same pompous asshole you were in school, but I'm not the same person I was ten years ago. I'll have you know that I even dated a Muggle last year." McLaggen's eyebrows go up.

"Could that Muggle confirm this?" And this is the last straw.

"Look, McLaggen, I don't know what your problem is with me." McLaggen clicks his tongue. "But I've answered all of your questions, under veritaserum might I add. Harry and I were just trying to help. We didn't kill those people. You have no right to hold me here." McLaggen sighs and leans back in his chair again. Draco stares at him but does not say any more. Finally McLaggen nods.

"Fine," he says. "You're free to go." He waves toward the door. Draco stands and turns to leave. He stops before leaving the room.

"McLaggen?"

"What?" McLaggen spins around in his chair to face Draco.

"My wand?" McLaggen frowns but nods.

"Horning will return your things to you if you go back the way you came." Draco nods and exits.

…

Meanwhile in a dark alley several miles away, one cloaked figure paces in front of another. The second figure is wringing their hands, clearly worried.

"Fuck me, you're incompetent," the first person hisses.

"I'm sorry! It was the wrong house. I-I didn't realize until it was too late."

"How did you go to the wrong house? You're a wizard for fuck's sake."

"It was dark…"

"Well it's fucked everything up." The first figure rounds on the second. "Now the Ministry's investigating."

"I'm sorry. The woman, she woke up and she screamed. If she hadn't woken up, I would have just left them alone and gone to the right place." The first figure clenches their fists. Then they take a deep breath.

"Well, we have to hope no one figures out it was you. I'll see if someone can run interference on the investigation." The first figure lets out a large sigh. There is silence for a long moment, then there's a groan. "Circe, you've possibly set us back months. We can only hope whoever has the Reliquary doesn't put two and two together." The first figure slams their fist into the wall behind the second figure's head and the second figure flinches. "I hope Oliver Wood rots in hell. If he hadn't stolen the damn thing, we would have been in control of it."

"Do you think it was purposeful? Him stealing it, I mean."

"Almost certainly." There is another long pause. "We will just have to be more careful in the future and hope your blunder doesn't ruin everything."

…

"McLaggen asked me about the Reliquary," Draco says as soon as they have apparated home. Or, at least to Harry's house, which Draco somewhat thinks of as his second home.

"He _what_?" Harry stops walking and turns to face Draco.

"He asked me about the fucking Reliquary." Draco is still rattled by this.

"Yes, I heard you," Harry says. He blows out a breath. "I just. Shit. I don't know what to make of that." He makes his way over to the couch and flops down on it. Draco sits next to him and lays his head on Harry's shoulder. It is now three thirty in the morning and Draco has work in a few hours. He wonders if he can call in sick or if Big Dick will think he just has a hangover.

"Do you think he has clearance to know about me?" Draco asks. Harry immediately shakes his head.

"Not a chance." He frowns. "The only thing I can think is that he was part of the original search for the Reliquary after Oliver stole it and he's still asking around."

"He also asked why I was spending so much time with Pansy."

"Mm," Harry muses. "It could be that he put two and two together. But I don't understand why he would care."

"Because he's a persistent bastard." Harry chuckles. He shifts slightly under Draco's head and Draco sits up.

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"Only that we live together and that we didn't kill your neighbors." Harry nods.

"Good."

"Though, thank Circe I'd had my veritaserum training already, or I might have said something about the Reliquary. Instead I gave him a snarky answer about muggle religious artifacts." The corner of Harry's mouth quirks up in a smile.

"I hope you weren't too snarky. He was questioning you about a murder."

"He deserved all the snark that he got," Draco says. He leans back in the couch cushions, happy to be home. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. Harry takes this as a sign that they should go to sleep, and for the second time that night, apparates them straight to the bedroom. This time, however, when Draco falls into the sheets, he falls asleep almost instantly.

…

"Why the fuck did McLaggen tell me he arrested you last night?" Pansy hisses in Draco's ear the next following day at work.

"Good morning to you too, darling," Draco says. He straightens a book on the display he is putting together and then stands back to look at it.

"Draco," Pansy says. Her voice is quiet but it is full of menace.

"Well if McLaggen has told you about it, there's not much I need to say, is there?" Pansy puts her hands on her hips and frowns at Draco. "Ok, fine. Harry and I were found standing over a dead body."

"You _what_?"

"There was a murder," Draco says. He draws out the U of murder.

"You murdered someone?"

"No, you ninny. We heard screams from the house next door and went to try to help only to find two dead bodies and a shit ton of blood."

"Oh."

"And then McLaggen got all upset because the Ministry's going to have to investigate because Harry had used magic, even though it was clearly a Muggle murder."

"I ascertained that from the shit ton of blood comment," Pansy says. She looks down at Draco's display and straightens a book pile. "Did you stop to think that perhaps you shouldn't run into a house with screaming people in it?"

"I was with Harry," Draco says by way of explanation.

"Right," Pansy says. "Mr Do First and Think Later."

"Precisely."

"Well," she says after a long moment where both of them stare at the book display. "Don't do it again." Then she stalks off and Draco realizes he hasn't asked her about her night. He'll have to ask Greg.

…

Draco and Harry have Greg over for dinner that night in order to get him drunk and pepper him with questions. Kreacher makes salmon with a side of the best Brussel sprouts Draco thinks he has ever had and Draco wonders at what point he and Harry might share ownership of the elf (who clearly likes Draco more). Over dinner, they share a lovely bottle of Chardonnay, followed by another possibly even lovelier bottle of Pinot Noir.

But Greg remains tight lipped - so tight lipped that Harry jokingly asks if Pansy has obliviated him.

"Not this time," Greg says, but then says no more on the topic. Draco wonders if this means Greg knows that Pansy is a Hit Wizard, but doesn't know a tactful way to bring that up in conversation.

Greg is delighted to learn that Harry has learned the rules of Exploding Gobstones Snap and after dinner they retire to the living room for a lively round. But even after several Manhattans (one of which Greg had to down, even though it had been newly mixed), Greg stays silent on the topic of Pansy. So Draco only has the smile that plays around Greg's lips as he talks about her to go on. And that tells him that they had a good time together, even if it tells him nothing else.

Around eleven, Greg begs tiredness and heads home, leaving Harry and Draco to snuggle on the couch, nursing the ends of their own drinks. Harry turns on the television, but Draco doesn't pay much attention to it. He is drowsing in his cocktail and all but asleep when there's a flash of green light from outside.

Harry jumps beside him and Draco jerks awake again.

"What was that?" Harry asks. Draco rubs his eyes with one hand. He looks at his watch and then back at the window.

"Fireworks probably?" he hazards. "It's almost Guy Fawkes day. They are probably some idiots setting things off a few days early."

"Oh, right," Harry says, though he looks unconvinced. "Probably." As if to back up Draco's statement, they hear a crackle as another set of fireworks goes off somewhere in the distance.

"Sometimes, I think you're a bit too on edge," Draco says."You need to switch off sometimes." Harry gives him a rueful smile, which he drops as Draco leans in and kisses him.

"Probably," he says.

"Maybe we should get you in bed," Draco says.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry lifts an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, maybe we should sleep. I'm shattered."

"Am I allowed to ravish your tired body?"

"You may," Draco says with a smile.

And as Harry apparates them to the bedroom again, Draco wonders why they even have stairs in the first place.

…

Harry wants to let Draco sleep in the next morning, but he gets an urgent message from Hermione, summoning them to the Ministry. Still, he lets the blond sleep as late as he can before he gently shakes him awake. It's been long enough that he really can't delay their going into the office any longer. Draco frowns at him, eyes scrunched up against the light.

"What?" he asks, his voice scratchy from sleep.

"We've been summoned in to the office," Harry says.

"Why?" Draco pulls his pillow out from under his head and hides his face under it.

"Hermione asked to see us." Harry stares at the pillow and is about to take it away when Draco pushes it off of his face and sits up. He never made it back into his pajamas last night and the spiderweb of scars on his chest is silvery in the morning sunlight.

"Do you think it's about the other night?" Draco asks, jerking his head in the direction of the house next door.

"I'm not sure," Harry says, frowning. "But either way, you'd better get up." Draco grumbles for a moment, but swings his legs out from under the covers.

He dresses quickly and soon Harry and Draco are making their way into the Ministry. It is quiet on a Sunday morning and they see no one as they make their way down to Hermione's office. Harry keeps a professional distance nonetheless. When they reach Hermione, she ushers them in and motions for them to sit.

Harry tries not to feel too apprehensive, but a knot forms in the pit of his stomach nonetheless. He hasn't seen Hermione since the Halloween party and he is a little concerned that in telling her that he cares for Draco that she's going to start worrying about their relationship. Not that it's any of her concern. (Except that it probably is.)

"Harry, Draco," she says once they are settled in their chairs. "Thank you for coming in. Something has come up."

"Is it about the murder?" Harry asks. He might as well ask the blunt question. Or, at least, one of the blunt questions.

"The murder?" Hermione's brow furrows in confusion.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Harry says quickly. "Just there was a murder in the house next door to mine." Hermione's frown deepens. She leans forward and steeples her fingers.

"Well, that makes my decision easier then," she says. Harry fights to keep his face impassive. His mind races through what decisions Hermione could have made. Is she splitting them up? Are they bringing Draco on full time? If so, what will happen to their cover? But before he can get too far, she continues speaking.

"We picked up some chatter the other day," she says. "That someone is planning to steal a dangerous magical object." Harry relaxes. This is a Reliquary thing. This has nothing to do with their relationship or the murder or anything like that. "And we want you to figure out who's behind the plot."

"Great," Harry says. "Do you need us to case a museum during a charity function or some such thing?"

"I need you to go on vacation," Hermione says.

"Oh?"

"The object in question is in a vault in Switzerland, up in the alps. So we want you and Draco to take a long, leisurely trip up there by train and then survey the place, under the cover of going skiing."

"Skiing?" Harry asks. A thrill of nerves goes through him.

"Yes," Hermione says.

"I don't know how to ski," he says quietly, staring into his lap.

"You don't know how to ski?" Draco asks, turning to look at him. When Harry looks up, there is a smirk of amusement on Draco's face.

"And you do?" he snaps.

"Of course, my parents took me during the Christmas hols during our third year. They had a chalet in the French Alps, but, uh, they no longer have that."

"Yes, well," Harry says, his voice hard, perhaps harder than he means it to be. "I didn't have parents." Draco bites his lip. He reaches out and puts a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I'll teach you," he says. "It will be a fun, "romantic" activity." Harry notices that Draco uses air quotations when he says romantic, and he is grateful for that.

"So once we figure out who is planning to steal the object," Harry starts to say and then he pause before asking, " Do we know what it is yet?"

"Uh." Hermione looks down at her notes. "I'm not sure," she says after a moment. "My notes don't say. They only say where the item is being kept." Harry nods. It is not the first time that an informant has given them incomplete information.

"So once we figure out who is behind this, you want us to stop them?" Harry continues.

"No," Hermione says slowly. "We think this is part of a larger crime ring, so once the item has been taken, we want you to track the thieves. Follow them back to whoever ever hired them. We believe they will be trying to stay under the radar, and will therefore also be using Muggle transportation, so it should fit in with your leisurely tour around Europe." Harry nods.

"Um," Draco says. "Excuse me." Hermione turns to him. "I don't mean to be rude, but what's going to happen with my job? I can't just go galavanting off around Europe on a train. I have a full time job."

"We've already cleared it with your boss," Hermione says, waving her hand.

"You what?"

"We told him that Harry is taking you on an impromptu vacation."

"And he was okay with this?" Draco asks, amazed. "But I'm the assistant manager! I'm important."

"Yes, you're the assistant manager," Hermione says. "A position that comes with much more vacation time." Draco narrows his eyes at her, but nods slowly.

"And I had originally felt worse about disrupting your daily lives, but if there's been a murder next door, it might be best if you do leave the country for a bit. You know, for you safety."

"It was a Muggle murder, Hermione," Harry says. "It had nothing to do with us."

"Well, still," she says.

"Is McLaggen going to be alright with us leaving?" Draco asks Harry.

"McLaggen?" Hermione asks. Harry sighs. He had hoped they would have to get into this, but he supposes it _is_ something he should tell Hermione about. It would be better than it getting back to her second hand, which it will.

"We heard screaming," Harry says. "Next door."

"The murder?" Hermione asks. Harry nods.

"So we went to see if we could help."

"Oh," Hermione says softly. "Oh Harry."

"Long story short, McLaggen came in and found Draco and I crouched next to two very bloody and very dead bodies."

"I see."

"It wasn't us, Herm,"

"I know."

"But he brought us in."

"Yes," Hermione says. "Protocol."

"And he questioned Draco using veritaserum." Harry tries not to sound angry at this, but he's not sure he quite manages it.

"Mm, protocol," Hermione says again, this time more quietly.

"And he asked about the Reliquary," Draco says. Harry whips his head around to stare at Draco. He hadn't been planning on bringing that up, but now that Draco has said it, there's no taking it back.

"He _what_?" Hermione asks, mirroring Harry's reaction when Draco had told him.

"He asked me what I knew about the Reliquary. Of course, I'd had your training the other day, so I told him I knew nothing about it, but it was unnerving to say the least." Hermione nods. She is frowning again. "Then he asked me why I was spending so much time with Parkinson." Hermione nods again, but doesn't say anything. She appears lost in thought. She brings a hand up to her mouth and absentmindedly chews on a hangnail.

"Right," she says, suddenly coming back to the room. She lays both hands on the table. "We need to get you on the train tonight then."

"I'm sorry?"

"We had planned to have you leave in a couple of days, but McLaggen complicates things."

"Won't he find that suspicious?" Draco asks. He's sure he would if he were in McLaggen's shoes. Hermione shrugs.

"If he does, he does. But if you're out of the country, I think he's less likely to keep thinking you might be the Reliquary. After all, why would we send away our most valuable asset?"

"Really though," Draco says. "Why _are_ you sending away your most valuable asset?"

"Because we need you on this heist. This is the priority. We think it's going to lead us to the head of an Italian crime family - the Battaglia Family - that we, and the Polizia Magica, have been tracking for years. They're notoriously slippery and it is Dempsey's opinion that it's time to send in the big guns."

"The big guns being me?" Draco asks.

"Precisely."

"I guess I'm learning how to ski then," Harry says. He slumps back in his chair, but smiles to let them know he's actually somewhat pleased by this turn of events.


	21. Draco Versus the Ski Trip

Quick warning - there is some non-consensual stuff towards the end. (Not from our boys, of course)

* * *

"How am I supposed to pack for a European sojourn of indeterminate length in a day?" Draco asks as they walk down Harry's street towards his house. After their meeting with Hermione, they had apparated to the Leaky Cauldron so that Draco could excitedly tell Hannah that Harry was taking him on a romantic getaway. Hannah had gushed and Draco had blushed and now they were heading home to pack before their train that evening.

They are going to take the Eurostar to Paris and then change to an overnight sleeper which will take them through France to Switzerland. From there, they will board another train to take them to the alpine town where they will be staying.

Harry can hardly blame Draco for worrying about packing - he is hardly sure what he should take - but at the same time he's not worried. Anything that they don't have, they can buy. And a trip off the grid will be perfect. They can talk about their relationship in private, without worrying who can see them, and even if anyone does, they can pretend it is to keep up their cover. Harry can't wait.

Hermione had impressed upon them as they left that they would be pretty much entirely on their own for this mission as the Ministry didn't want the Battaglia family to catch wind of the fact that someone was surveilling them. It is not the first time Harry has been on such a mission, but it has been a while. It had felt strange when Banks had turned his watch to its emergency only function. But in a way he feels free. It's just him and Draco and the mission at hand.

"Oh dear," Draco says, breaking into Harry's thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Ambulance." Draco points at the vehicle down the road. The flashing lights are off, but there is a person being maneuvered into the vehicle. Harry blinks. It's not a person. It's a body under a sheet. He frowns. He hasn't been on the street for long enough to know who any of his neighbors are, but he seems to recall that there is an elderly couple who lives somewhere further down the street. He had seen them walking together on the day he had moved in.

"That's unfortunate," Harry says. They turn to his house and climb the steps to the front door. Draco cranes his neck to look at the ambulance.

"Doesn't look the the ambulance is going to do much good," Draco says quietly. Harry presses his lips together in a line and makes a noncommittal noise. He pushes the door open and they go inside.

Once the door is shut, Draco goes back to panicking about packing. He rushes up the stairs and Harry tell that he is rummaging through the closet by the clattering of hangers that he hears. He sighs and shakes his head before following the blond upstairs.

"How are you not more worried?" Draco asks as Harry enters the bedroom. There is a pile of clothes on the bed that is almost as tall as Kreacher.

"We can always buy more if we need it," Harry says with a shrug. "Plus, Draco, may I remind you that you're a wizard. You can bring as much as you want with an undetectable extension charm."

"I know that," Draco snaps. "But how to get it all organized? I never used to pack for myself at home. We always had house elves."

"Kreacher," Harry calls. There is a loud crack and the house elf appears in front of Harry.

"The master called?" Kreacher croaks.

"Can you help us pack?" Harry asks. Kreacher looks around the room, taking in the pile of clothes on the bed.

"Certainly Master Harry," he says. "Should I start with Master Draco's things?"

"Please," Draco says.

"Will Master Draco be needing things from his other house?" the elf asks.

"Oh, bollocks," Draco says softly. "I forgot about those. Uh, yes please, Kreacher."

"Certainly," Kreacher says again. He disappears with another loud crack and Draco looks sheepishly over at Harry.

"I can't believe I forgot about Kreacher," he says. "I'm still so used to doing things on my own." Harry crosses the room and takes one of Draco's hands in his.

"That's why we're a team," he says. Draco looks up at him through his lashes and Harry squeezes his hand.

"About that," Draco says.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry says before Draco can say anything else. "Will you be my top secret, most certainly frowned upon by the Ministry boyfriend?"

"Are you asking me if I want to do all the things we do in public in private as well? Only now they mean something?"

"I think they may have meant something for a while," Harry says quietly.

"I think they may have meant something the entire time they weren't supposed to mean anything," Draco replies. He bites his lower lip. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Harry pulls Draco closer to him. They are toe to toe now.

"Mixing business with pleasure."

"I'm not sure there's been quite enough of the latter." Harry leans in so that their faces are inches apart.

"Well, we're going on an impromptu vacation, Potter. You can show me a good time."

"Gladly." Harry closes the gap between them and presses their lips together. He pulls away after a moment. "Just checking - that's a yes? Yes, you will go out with me?" Draco smirks at him and Harry's stomach turns over in delight. Oh how that smirk has made him feel different things over the years. (But was it maybe always attraction?)

"Sure," he says. "I'll be your top secret boyfriend."

…

Harry and Draco catch the 7:01 Eurostar to Paris, and then get on their sleeper train about an hour after they arrive in Paris. Draco thinks they have made pretty convincing Muggles on their journey. They have dragged their trunks rather than levitating them and they have taken trains as opposed to portkeys for the entire journey. (A small part of him is a little amazed that the Muggles have managed to build a train from London to Paris in the first place. Underwater! What a concept!)

He is delighted by their little sleeper compartment. It is exactly what he had pictured an overnight train would look like. He and Harry both have their own bunks (Draco claimed the top bunk as soon as they had walked in) and there are two seats next to the beds. Once their luggage is stowed, Draco wastes no time in climbing up to his bunk so that he can lord it over Harry.

But Harry doesn't play along. Instead, he pulls his wand out and taps his bunk, muttering something that Draco can't hear. Then he climbs into his bunk, disappearing from Draco's view.

"What are you doing down there?" Draco asks after a long moment. He considers jumping down, but doesn't want to give Potter that satisfaction.

"Taking off all of my clothes," Harry says. Draco can hear the smirk in his voice.

"That seems daring," Draco replies. "Seeing as there's a window into our compartment."

"Yes, well we're moving quite fast. I doubt anyone can see in."

"Are you implying what I think you're implying, Potter?"

"Maybe." Draco gives in. He hops down from his bunk. Harry is indeed taking his clothes off, but he has only managed to get his jacket and scarf off thus far.

"You tease," Draco says. He sits down on Harry's bunk and then notices how much larger it is than his own. "How did you get the bigger bed?" Harry laughs.

"Magic."

"Clever."

"I don't think you've ever said that to me," Harry says. He claps a hand to his chest as though touched.

"Yes, well, the occasion has never arisen before." This earns Draco a shove, which then somehow turns into Harry shuffling over to him on the bed and kissing him until they are both breathing hard. Draco paws at Harry's sweater until the brunet relents and pulls it over hs head, leaving his hair tousled. Draco reaches up and smoothes it down.

"Are we really going to fuck on a train?" Draco asks. His hand has lingered on Harry's cheek, but he lowers it now.

"If you want." Harry looks suddenly shy. "I mean, I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do."

"Hmm," Draco muses. "Do I want to sleep with my boyfriend?" He smirks and sees the tension leave Harry's forehead. "Get your kit off then." He pulls out his wand and casts and obscuring spell at the window. It can never hurt to be cautious. Then he locks the compartment door and turns his attention to Harry.

He reaches up and pulls Harry's face to his. He kisses him softly and slowly. There's none of the rush from Halloween night. They are on holiday and have all the time they could want. And Draco wants to make Harry feel like he's the only person in the world. Because right now, in Draco's world, he is. It's just them, and this compartment, and all night

He takes his time unbuttoning Harry's shirt and when it falls open, he runs his hands down Harry's stomach so gently that he makes the other man shiver. He starts to move them more onto the bed, but realizes that his shoes are still on. He quickly kicks them off, and then lays Harry down and presses himself flush against him.

The train rocks gently as it chugs along, and soon they rock to the same rhythm, so lost in each other that they hardly notice their surroundings.

...

"This is lovely," Draco says as they enter their room. It hardly feels fair to call it a room. It's practically its own house. It is spread over two floors, with the bed on the second floor, looking out over the floor to ceiling windows that have a prime view of the Matterhorn.

It is more modern than the chalet the Malfoy's had owned for the their skiing vacations, and Draco is glad for that. It will mean he is less likely to reflect back on their last trip. It had been fun, of course, but it had been tense at the same time as it had been the year before the Dark Lord had returned. Draco had gone skiing more than he had strictly wanted to just to escape his parents' muttered conversations. He supposes he has that to thank for his proficiency on the slopes.

"That's quite the view," Harry says, breaking into Draco's thoughts. Draco turns to gaze out of the window. He doesn't hear Harry walk up behind him, but suddenly Harry's arms are around him and Harry's head is resting on his shoulder. He smiles and turns his head so their cheeks are touching. Harry pulls away after a moment, but it's only so that he can whisper "I can't wait for you to fuck me in front of that view."

"Oh, you'd like that, would you?"

"Very much so."

"I guess that can be arranged." Draco turns in Harry's arms and kisses him. He revels in the feeling of Harry against his body. It is still so novel, their actual intimacy, and he wonders if he will ever get used to it, or if there will always be this thrill in the pit of his stomach. He can't explain why, but every time he touches Harry, it feels like the first time. And he can't decide if it felt more like he was getting away with kissing Harry when they were "dating" or if it feels more like getting away with kissing Harry now that they're secretly actually dating. Either way, Harry's touch is electric and Draco can't get enough of it.

And Harry is right. He _does_ look amazing spread out before Draco in front of that incredible view.

…

Harry quickly decides that skiing is hard. Draco agrees to take beginner's lessons with him so that he will feel less embarrassed about learning to ski. But while Draco quickly progresses from the bunny slope, Harry stays there for hours. And when he finally progresses to the beginner slope, he quickly discovers that he can only turn left.

It really is an unfortunate predicament. For as much as he tries - and dear Merlin he tries - his left leg will not push him right. He's too right legged for his own good.

And it is because of this, that he ends up in a snowbank.

Draco doesn't notice for the first couple of runs down the beginner slope. The first time he passes Harry, he assumes that Harry will manage to extricate himself from the snowbank. On the second time, he reckons that Harry is just about to free himself. He doesn't notice that Harry hasn't moved from the place where he first plowed into the snowbank.

It is only on Draco's third pass that he realizes Harry might need some help. He expertly skis over to where Harry is and stops, throwing up snow as he does. Harry puts his hands up to protect his face.

"Show off," he says. Draco grins. His face is flushed from the cold and if Harry weren't so upset about being stuck where he is, he would have found it charming. But Harry is stuck and he is frustrated and he's starting to think that skiing just isn't for him.

"Let's get you out of there," Draco says. "How did you even end up here?"

"I can't turn right,"Harry says.

"You what?"

"You heard me. I can't turn right. My legs won't listen to me."

"Let me let you in on a secret," Draco said. He pulled back his sleeve and revealed his wand which he had hidden there. "You're a wizard, Harry."

"How does that help me? Are there special spells for skiing?"

"Not necessarily, but you can cast stabilizing spells, same as you might for a broom."

"Circe, I wish we could just fly instead," Harry says.

"Well we can't," Draco says. "But I promise once you get the hang of it, skiing will be almost as much fun." Harry grumbles but finally extricates himself from the snowbank. Draco shows him the spells that his mother had used on him when he was first learning to ski, and once that's done, they spend the rest of the afternoon conquering the easy run.

Loathe as Harry is to admit that Draco is right about anything, he starts to find himself having fun.

"The best part of skiing," Draco says as they are hanging up their skis for the day. "Is the apres ski."

"The what now?"

"The after skiing fun. It generally involves sitting by fires, roasting marshmallows and drinking. Sometimes there are even hot tubs involved."

"Hot tubs?" Harry asks. He raises one eyebrow and Draco smirks at him.

"Yes, Potter," he says, pressing up against Harry. "Hot tubs."

"I think I might enjoy this skiing thing after all."

…

The trip is heaven. They spend the next few weeks enjoying themselves. Draco learns the planes of Harry's body and Harry learns (slowly) to ski without resorting to magic. They try other winter sports as well: curling, ice skating and sledding. Sledding is Draco's favorite, because they can both fit on one toboggan, one person's arms wrapped around the other as they fly, laughing, down the hills.

They keep an eye out for other wizards but for the first three weeks, there are no signs of magical activity. They do manage to sneak into the vault that Hermione had mentioned on their third night in the Alps. Since they do not know which object precisely is going to be stolen, Harry throws caution to the winds and puts a covert tracking spell on all of the items that are housed there.

"Won't someone notice?" Draco asks.

"They might," Harry allows. "But it's a new spell that Hermione came up with and so far no one has been able to detect it through the usual anti-surveillance spells." Once Harry says this, the Reliquary confirms it, so Draco lets the subject go.

But for three weeks, there are no alerts and they see no suspicious activity.

So they continue to enjoy themselves. They ski until their thighs feel like jelly; they make fleeting friends with fellow vacationers; they drink until everything is funny.

But as much fun as they are having, Harry is still antsy. He hasn't had such a long break since he started at the Ministry. After all, he was never one to be idle (except when it came to homework). Draco notices Harry's tension and does his best to mitigate it, but there's only so much he can do. And the tension is infectious.

…

Then it happens. Another wizard shows up. And it's not just _any_ wizard. It's Massimo Battaglia, who the Reliquary informs them is the heir to the Battaglia criminal empire.

Draco has to do a double take when he sees him, for though his brain (or, rather, the all knowing knowledge-base inside his mind) is telling him it is Massimo Battaglia, he looks so far from the heir to a multi-million galleon crime family that it is almost laughable. But then, Draco figures, he is probably trying to stay incognito by staying in the cheapest room and wearing hand-me-down skiwear.

"We should befriend him," Draco says once he has pointed Massimo out to Harry.

"Should we?"

"Yes."

"And how are we going to do that?" Harry asks.

"The same way we've befriended everyone else who we've met on this vacation. By buying him lots of drinks on the Ministry's sickle and playing truth or dare in the hot tub."

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yes, OK. What did you think I was going to say?" Harry asks, a smile playing across his lips.

"No?"

"But it's a good plan."

"Unless he's a teetotaler."

"True, then we're fucked."

…

Massimo is not a teetotaler, and it takes Harry and Draco all of an hour to get themselves into his good graces. Harry almost feels that it is too easy. But then, Massimo has no reason to suspect them. Massimo has, of course, heard of Harry, which means that there are no awkward 'Are they a wizard? Aren't they a wizard?' interactions. Instead, once most of the Muggles have gone to sleep, Harry, Draco and Massi (as he likes to be called) take three brooms to the top of the Matterhorn and shoot fireworks from the top of it. (They would have apparated there, but they were all too drunk to be sure they wouldn't splinch themselves.)

They spend the next couple of days conquering black diamond runs with Massi by day and then drinking and talking until late into the night. Draco finds himself genuinely warming to Massi and he is not looking forward to the moment when he's going to have to betray him to the Ministry.

"So what are you doing once your vacation is over?" Harry asks Massi on the fourth night of his stay. They are sitting around a large fire pit, drinking hot toddies. The firelight bathes everyone in a warm glow and makes Massi's brown eyes look like pools of darkness.

"I'm headed back home to Milan."

"So this was just a quick jaunt over the border for you then?" Draco asks and Massi laughs.

"Something like that," he says. "But let's not talk about the vacation ending. That's no fun. Let's go clubbing." He sits forward and grins at them. Harry and Draco look at each other for the barest of seconds before agreeing. They leave the dregs of their drinks by the fire and head to their respective rooms to change.

"What do I wear?" Draco cries, flipping through the entirety of his closet that Kreacher has packed for him in an undetectably extended suitcase. (He has even organized it by color, bless him)

"Clothes, preferably," Harry says. He has changed into black jeans and a black button down.

"I thought you liked me without clothes."

"I do, but I don't like other people seeing you without clothes."

"Fair point." Draco pulls out a pair of tight green trousers and then after a moments thought, also grabs a loose fitting white shirt.

"You look nice," Harry says once he is dressed. "I can't wait to take those off of you again." Draco smirks at him before taking him by the hand and leading him out of the door. They find Massi waiting for them in the lobby and the three of them make their way out into the town.

It is a cold, clear night. The moonlight glints off of the snow that blankets the houses. Massi seems to know where they are going, as he walks confidently through the streets. They pass the building where the vault is housed and they do not even slow. Harry wonders, not for the first time, if Massi is here as a distraction while someone else breaks into the vault. But then, none of his tracking spells have gone off, so he dismisses the thought.

Presently they stop in front of a building and Massi ushers them inside. They follow him down into the basement where they are met by a bouncer. Harry can't hear what Massi says to the man, but they are quickly shown to the back of the club, behind a curtain and into what appears to be a VIP area. It is empty apart from them. Draco grins at Harry and Harry rolls his eyes but smiles back.

"I'm going to get us some drinks," Massi yells over the music. He makes his way back into the club while Harry and Draco sit down at one of the small clusters of comfortable chairs. Massi returns a few minutes later, clutching three gin and tonics. He sets them down on the table and they each take one. They clink glasses and then Massi picks up his drink and heads onto the dance floor. They watch him go but agree to finish their drinks before joining him.

Harry leans back in his chair and takes a long sip of his drink. Draco watches him. A small smile plays about his face.

"What?" Harry asks.

"Nothing."

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm not."

"Sure."

"Are you going to dance with me out there?" Draco asks, jerking his head at the dance floor.

"Of course," Harry says. "Why wouldn't I?" Draco shrugs.

"We haven't necessarily discussed that we're a couple with Massi."

"So?"

"Nothing."

"You're worried what he might think?"

"Aren't you?"

"Not overly." Draco nods slowly and takes a sip of his drink. He puts it down on the table in front of them just as Massi walks back into the VIP area with three women following him.

"I guess we'll have to explain it now," Draco says, his eyes flicking to Massi and the women. Harry nods once, his mouth a thin line.

"I got us some bitches," Massi cries as he rejoins them at the table. As Draco watches, a small furrow forms between Harry's eyebrows, which is then quickly smoothed away. "Which one do you want?"

"Sorry?" Draco asks. He is not sure if Massi means what he thinks Massi means.

"Pick a girl," Massi cries. "And she's all yours for the evening!"

"Massi," Harry says quietly, so quietly that Draco almost cannot hear him. "Are these women under the imperius curse?"

"Of course," Massi says with a laugh. "They'll let you do whatever you want. All night long." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. Draco's stomach rolls and he fights to keep his face impassive.

"Massi," Harry says. "We're gay."

"Great, more for me." Massi smirks at them. "Did you want me to go find you some guys?"

"We're together," Draco says curtly. Massi shrugs and then flicks his head towards one of the women.

"You," he says. "On your knees. I have a little problem that won't take care of itself." With one hand, he reaches down and undoes his belt buckle. "You two don't mind, do you?" He laughs. "Well, I know you won't complain about seeing my cock." Massi winks at them and then unzips his fly. He pulls his trousers down around his thighs before sitting down in one of the chairs opposite Draco. His penis stands erect between his thighs, but it is quickly hidden from view as the woman Massi had indicated kneels down in front of him.

Draco doesn't know where to look as her head begins to bob. He glances over at Harry, but Harry is still looking at Massi as if nothing wrong were afoot. Massi stretches his arms up and puts his hands behind his head, a shit-eating grin stretched across his mouth.

"You sure you don't want in on this action?" he asks indicating the woman in front of him.

"We're ok," Harry says.

"Ah," Massi replies. "You two fuck enough that you don't need this. I get it." He sighs and closes his eyes. "I used to have that, but she left me."

Draco bites back a comment of "I wonder why," just as Harry says,

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's fine," Massi says, waving off Harry's comment. "Mm, yes." His attention turns back to the woman sucking him off and he closes his eyes. Harry turns and looks at Draco who briefly raises his eyebrows before taking a pointedly large sip of his gin and tonic.

It doesn't take Massi long to finish and shortly the woman stands up, wiping her mouth. Massi tucks himself back into his trousers and indicates that they should go dance. Draco doesn't need asking twice. He quickly downs the rest of his drink and follows Harry and Massi onto the dance floor.

"That was assault," Draco says into Harry's ear over the pounding of the music. They are dancing far away from where Massi is taking turns kissing one woman and then another. Draco's arms are wrapped around Harry's waist and he is clutching the brunet close.

"I know," Harry replies. "But we're undercover and this isn't our jurisdiction anyway."

"And on top of that," Draco says, ignoring Harry's comment. "It was Muggle abuse."

"I know," Harry says again. He sounds tired. "Once he's led us to the rest of his family, we'll be sure to arrest him." Draco nods. He no longer feels bad about the fact that they are going to turn him in to the Ministry.

"I wonder when that's going to happen."

"Soon, I hope," Harry says. "As much as I love being on vacation with you, I'm ready to get back to work."

"We _are_ working."

"Mm, yes, this is very taxing," Harry murmurs into Draco's ear before gently nibbling it. Draco shivers in spite of the warmth of the club.

"Let's keep a eye on Massi though," Draco says. And it's a good thing that he does because about an hour after they arrive at the club, they see Massi slip out a side door.

"Should we follow him?" Draco asks as the door closes behind him.

"Yes," Harry says. They make their way across the floor and slip out of the door as well. They find themselves in a dark, empty alleyway. Harry wastes no time in getting out the invisibility cloak and swinging it around them. They hurry down the alley and towards the building where they know the vault is hidden, and sure enough, they spot Massi sauntering down the street toward it.

"Are you recording?" Draco asks as Massi slips through the side door of the building.

"I've been recording on and off all evening." Draco hopes that some of the off time was during their dancing. He knows he said things to Harry that he wouldn't want the Ministry to hear.

"Did you manage to record Massi with those women?"

"Of course, what kind of Unspeakable do you think I am?"

"Good." They fall quiet and wait for Massi to emerge again from the building. Draco shivers. The night is cold and they left their coats inside the club. It does not help that he is damp with sweat. Harry puts and arm around him, but he can feel Harry shivering as well. But all they can do is hope that Massi will be quick about his errand.

Luck is on their side as Massi reappears after about fifteen minutes. He has a bag over his shoulder and they can only assume that whatever he had been tasked to steal is concealed there. He walks back in their direction and they hurry to get back to the club before he can. They make it just in time.

The side door has only been shut for about a minute before it opens again and makes his way back into the throng of people. Draco and Harry are on the dance floor, pressed close, panting from what they hope appears to be their energetic dancing. Massi doesn't acknowledge them, but makes his way back to the VIP area. The three women from earlier stop dancing and follow him. Harry and Draco wait for a moment before they follow.

"Circe," Draco says loudly as they push past the curtain. "I think I need another drink."

"Always," Harry says as Draco flops down onto one of the chairs.

"How about you, Massi?" Draco asks. "Drink? Harry's buying."

"I am?"

"Yes. I've already sat down. So how about it?"

"Why not?"

"Manhattan, please Potter," Draco says, blowing him a kiss. Harry smiles sardonically but he nods nonetheless.

"Make that two," Massi says. Harry nods again and leaves.

Massi sits down on the chair next to Draco and scoots it close to him. He flicks his eyes to the women who are hovering nearby and they sit down opposite them, their faces blank. Draco suppresses a shudder.

"So, Draco," Massi says. He puts a hand on Draco's knee. "You also enjoy a little dick?"

"Sorry?" Draco asks. Then the imperius curse hits him and his mind goes blissfully blank.

"You want to suck my dick," Massi's voice says in his head. "You do, you filthy little cocksucker." And Draco thinks that yes, he would quite like to do that.

'No you don't,' says a voice at the back of his mind.

"You want my big, fat cock in your mouth," Massi's voice says again. "You want to suck my dick. Do it. Unzip my trousers." Yes, Draco wants that. That sounds like the perfect thing to do. His arm is itching to move, to obey, to unzip Massi's trousers.

'You don't want to do that,' the voice in the back of his mind says again. It sounds a lot like Harry. Oh! Harry! Draco would much prefer to get on his knees for Harry. But Harry isn't here.

"Do it," Massi says. "Unzip my trousers. Pull my cock out. Get on your dirty knees and put it in your filthy mouth." Draco frowns at him. His body is telling him that yes, he wants to do that. Dear Merlin, he wants to put Massi's dick in his mouth. But his mind is telling him that actually, he really doesn't want to do that and that this is wrong.

"Get on your knees," Massi's voice says.

"No," Draco manages to blurt out. "I don't want to."

"What?" Massi cries. Draco feels the imperius lift and he's not sure if it's because he's fought it off or because Massi has lifted it out of shock. Draco sits up straight in his chair, furious. He doesn't want to make a scene, but he sure as hell wants to put Massi in his place.

"Yeah," he says. "This dirty little cocksucker learned how to fight off the imperius curse in school." Massi's eyes are wide and he is pale. It is clear that no one has ever defied him like this before. Draco is more than happy to be the one to knock him down a peg.

"Fuck," Massi says quietly. "I didn't mean-"

"-Oh yes you fucking did," Draco snaps. He moves his chair violently away from Massi and Massi's hand falls off of his knee. In all of this, Draco had forgotten it was there.

"Um," says a voice behind Draco. "What's going on?" He turns in his chair and relief floods through him when he sees Harry standing there. He is somehow holding three martini glasses, so Draco knows at least one of them is being held up with magic. Good. That means his wand is out.

"This arsehole tried to get me to give him a blowjob," Draco says. "By putting me under the imperius curse." Harry's nostrils flare and Draco can see a muscle in Harry's jaw working, but he doesn't fly off the handle. On the contrary, he calmly walks over to their table and sets the drinks down on it. He sits down on Draco's other side.

"You put my boyfriend under the imperius curse?" Harry asks. His eyes bore into Massi's and Draco watches as a bead of sweat drips down Massi's forehead. "Do you know who the fuck I am?" Massi gulps.

"Yes," he says so quietly that Draco can hardly hear him over the music.

"So you know what the fuck I can do to you then?"

"Yes."

"Because you have nothing on Voldemort."

"I know," Massi says, nodding furiously. "I'm sorry."

"It's not me you should apologize to," Harry snarls.

"I'm sorry Draco," Massi says.

"You're just lucky I'm not going to press charges," Draco says. He reaches over, picks up his Manhattan and takes a big swig of it. It helps to deaden the angry pounding in his ears. He wants nothing more than to have Massi arrested for what he did, but he's got whatever it is the Battaglia family wanted to steal and they need to see where he leads them with it.

"You're not?"

"Don't make me change my mind."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Get the fuck out of here," Draco hisses and Massi flinches like he's been slapped. He nods once and then stands. He puts on his coat and puts the mysterious bag on his arm. Then he leaves, not looking at either of them.

As soon as he's through the curtain, Harry reaches out a hand and put it on Draco's arm.

"Are you okay?" he asks. Draco sighs but nods his head.

"Nothing actually happened," he says.

"Doesn't matter. It matters that he even tried," Harry says. Draco takes another large sip of his drink. "Circe, I wanted to punch him from the moment he brought those poor women back here. What an absolute bellend."

"Bellend," Draco agrees.


	22. Draco Versus La Scala

Harry activates the tracking spell as soon as they are back to their room, but Massi doesn't leave the hotel that night. In fact, he doesn't leave for another day and they spend an awkward twelve hours avoiding him around the resort.

Then they watch on a map as he makes his way back to Milan. At least they know that he wasn't lying about that. Harry books them on the next train down from the mountain and soon they are checking into another luxurious hotel, this time in the heart of a city. Draco delights in the chocolates on his pillow at the turndown service and they both enjoy their gigantic bathtub ("Still not as big as the one in the prefect's bathroom," Draco says. "No bath is _that_ big," Harry replies.)

Under the guise of seeing the city, they track the object to a building near the Galleria. They spend an afternoon sitting in a cafe while they surreptitiously watch the comings and goings of various people. Draco sparks on many of them and Harry notes them down in his city guide while he pretends to be deciding where they should go next.

"We're going to have to break in," Draco says quietly after they are on their third macchiato. "Aren't we? So we can see what we're tracking?" Harry frowns. His foot jitters up and down from the caffeine.

"Maybe," he says after a moment. Draco sighs.

"All I want to do is go to La Scala," he says.

"Really?" Harry asks.

"Yes," Draco says. "Opera is a passion of mine."

"Is it?"

"No," Draco says, looking daggers at Harry. "You should know that. But I've heard La Scala is amazing and I want to go." Harry flips through his guide book until he reaches the page on the Teatro alla Scala.

"Well you might be shit out of luck," he says. "Their season doesn't start until the 7th of December. That's a week away." Draco crosses his arms in front of his chest and glowers at Harry. "You just have to hope that whatever it is that we're tracking doesn't move before then."

…

Draco is shit out of luck as it turns out. Not because he has to miss the opening of La Scala but because they run into Massi the following evening in the VIP area of a night club. Draco had wanted to dance the night away with Harry, but now they have to make small talk with the dickhead who thought he could take advantage of Draco.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Massi asks when he sees them. He is wary, for obvious reasons, but Harry has greets him like an old friend.

"You mentioned Milan when we were in Zermatt and Draco said he had never been here," Harry says.

"So you just," Massi pauses. "Came?" Harry shrugs.

"Professional celebrity," he says. "I do what I want." At this, Massi grins.

"Is that why you're in the VIP section?"

"Don't be an arsehole, Massi. Of course that's why. Why are you here?"

"Same fucking reason you are," Massi says. "To drink, dance and fuck. Maybe in that order, maybe not." He smirks. It is clear now that they are all pretending that the night in the last club never happened.

"I think he meant how did you get into this area of the club," Draco says. He tries to keep the bite out of his tone, but looking at Massi's smirk has made Draco angry. "What seeing as you couldn't afford a better room when we were in Zermatt."

"Oh, Draco," Massi says. His voice is soft, almost silky. "I most certainly could have." He reaches out and puts a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco suppresses the urge to shudder. "I just chose not to. I was there alone. I had no one to impress." He shrugs. "But enough of this. It's time to drink."

And drink they do. They drink until Draco doesn't really care that Massi is an arsehole, because really, he's kind of pretty. All wavy brown hair and dark eyes. And he's tall. Taller than both Draco and Harry. And if Draco pretends that Massi is an object, the way Massi had seen him, he can just observe him as a pretty object. And really, he's kind of funny. He's a funny object. Which doesn't excuse his actions in the slightest, but it makes being around him slightly more bearable. Draco still hates him, obviously, but as long as he keeps his hands to himself, Draco can tolerate him. At least until they arrest him and all of his family.

Draco doesn't know how Harry does it, but Harry talks Massi into inviting them into the Battaglia family box for opening night of La Scala.

"Really," Massi says as the night winds down. "You should come. My father would love to meet you." So they graciously accept. And it's only in the morning that Draco realizes they will be walking into a den of vipers.

…

"It's going to be fine," Harry says as he straightens Draco's bowtie five days later. Draco is wearing a brand new tuxedo. It has been tailored for him and in Harry's opinion, it looks amazing.

"I know," Draco snaps. He bats Harry's hands away. "I'm very good at small talk."

"I'm not saying you aren't. You just seem tense."

"That's because I _am_ tense." Draco shrugs. "But I'll be fine. We'll be fine." He takes Harry's hand in his. "And who knows, maybe we'll get someone to admit to them being an international crime family on recording!" Harry laughs.

"Maybe," he says.

...

"Parkinson." Pansy groans and turns away from the punching bag she had been hitting.

"What is it McLaggen?"

"I need to talk to you."

"You are talking to me," Pansy says.

"In private," McLaggen says, gesturing around the training room. There are other Ministry employees, mostly Hit Wizards, working out on the various equipment.

"Can it wait? I'm busy." To make her point, Pansy turns back to the punching bag and hits it with a sharp jab.

"Don't blow me off like that," McLaggen says. He walks into her field of vision on the other side of the bag.

"I'm not," Pansy grunts as she swings her fist at the bag again. "Just let me finish up here. Unless you want to spar with me?" She looks questioningly at McLaggen, a small smile playing about her lips.

"What, and have you beat me up again? No thanks." She shrugs.

"Fine." She glances up at the clock on the wall. "Why don't you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in half an hour."

"That's hardly private."

"I know the owner. We can get a seat in the back."

"I know Hannah too," McLaggen snaps. "We were both at school with her."

"Merlin, don't get your knickers in a twist. I only meant I can get her to let us into the VIP area."

"Right," McLaggen sneers. "Because you're friends with _Potter_ now." Pansy is surprised at the venom in McLaggen's tone when he says Harry's name.

"Just meet me there at five thirty," Pansy says. She turns her attention back to the punching bag, dismissing him with her body language. She hears him sigh, but he does what she says and leaves the room.

…

True to his word, McLaggen is waiting for Pansy at the Leaky Cauldron at five thirty. Pansy scowls slightly when she sees him. She was halfway hoping he would give up on whatever it is he wants to tell her. She jerks her head in the direction of the bar and he meets here there. She studiously ignores him while she orders a whisky and soda water, but she waits while Hannah pours his gin and tonic.

"Can we go to the VIP section, Hannah?" Pansy asks as Hannah hands over McLaggen's drink. After the Halloween party, a few weeks ago, Pansy has decided that she likes Hannah and has gone out of her way to visit her at the Leaky Cauldron. They are now comfortably on a first name basis, which is more than she can say about McLaggen.

It helps that Hannah is friends with Greg. Pansy has seen Greg outside of Flourish and Blotts a few more times since that night. Each of those evenings had started in the Leaky Cauldron and ended in Greg's bed. Pansy thinks she could get used to this. Not that she will admit it to anyone, least of all Greg.

"Of course," Hannah says. "It's all yours."

"Ta."

Pansy picks up her drink and walks towards the back of the pub. McLaggen follows her. Once they are settled in a booth at the very back of the empty VIP room, she turns her attention to him.

"What did you want, McLaggen?" she asks. She waits while he finishes the sip of his G&T that he has just taken.

"There's something strange going on," he says. His voice is quiet and it is clear to Pansy that he is scared of being overheard, even when there's no one around.

"Isn't there always?" she says. He gives her a look.

"This is different."

"Sure it is." He frowns and leans forward across the table towards her. It takes every ounce of her self control not to jerk backwards.

"I mean," he says, so quietly that his voice is little more than a whisper. "There's something strange about that Muggle murder that Potter and Malfoy stumbled into."

"What about it?"

"Did Malfoy say anything to you about that night?" Pansy shakes her head.

"He just said that some Muggles had been murdered," she says. She takes a sip of her drink and the bubbles tickle her nose. "Why? Do you think he did it?"

"No," McLaggen says slowly. "I believe that they found the bodies the way that they were. But I do think that a wizard did kill them and tried to make it look like another Muggle had done it."

"What makes you say that?" Pansy asks. McLaggen looks around again. Pansy sighs and pulls out her wand. "Muffliato," she says. It is a spell Potter had shown her a little while ago that muffles conversations so that people can't overhear them. She wonders why it is not in any Ministry guidelines. McLaggen looks at her in confusion, so she explains the spell. He nods and his shoulders relax a bit.

"Ok, so, I re-read Potter's statement about finding the heard creaking floorboards and the sound of glass breaking while they were _in_ the house," McLaggen says.

"Stupid Gryffindors," Pansy mutters. McLaggen ignores this and continues talking.

"But when they got to the room where the bodies were, there was no sign of the assailant. Potter said that Malfoy looked out of the window to try to find the perp, but there was no trace of them. We combed that garden for evidence, but aside from some shards of glass, there was nothing. No blood, no fibers - nothing. Potter also said Malfoy had used _hominem revelio_ but that no-one had shown up. So how did the assailant get away? They weren't in the house and they didn't flee by foot through the garden."

"It could be a murder suicide?" Pansy suggests.

"But the broken window," McLaggen points out. Pansy frowns.

"And you're sure it was broken from the inside?"

"Yes."

"Why are you telling me this anyway? I'm not even on your team." Pansy leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. "This is _your_ case."

"Because I think you're one of the good ones," McLaggen says.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Pansy snaps. McLaggen takes a deep breath. He leans forward across the table again and when he speaks, his voice is very quiet, in spite of the _Muffliato_. Pansy has to lean in to hear him.

"I think there are some bad people in the Ministry."

"Oh my god, McLaggen," Pansy says, leaning back again. "Did you bring me here to talk about some fucking conspiracy theory?"

"No! I just think you're a good Hit Wizard - I mean, clearly Dempsey trusts you, what with putting you on the Reliquary project."

"What did you just say?" Pansy asks. Her pulse spikes and she fights to keep her face neutral and free from any micro expressions that might give away her sudden tension.

"Isn't that why you've been working with Potter more often?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." Pansy takes a sip of her drink. "I haven't been working with Potter."

"Parkinson, I know he's an Unspeakable," McLaggen says.

"Is he?" she asks. She tries to sound like this is new information, but McLaggen knows far more about things than she thought he did and she's quite sure he can see through her charade.

"Parkinson," he says again. He lays his hands flat on the table. "I know about the Ministry hideout under Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor." Pansy can't help it. Her mouth drops open.

"How?" she asks.

"You're not the only Reliquary task force at the Ministry." Pansy blinks at him. "I assume Potter's the Reliquary, yes? That's why he opened the ice cream parlor and checks in with you at Flourish and Blott's? Good cover by the way. It would be far too obvious if you also worked at Fortescue's."

Pansy has to think fast. If McLaggen thinks that Harry is the Reliquary, Draco's cover will remain intact. But at the same time, the fact that McLaggen knows so much about the Reliquary and has mentioned another task force gives her pause.

"If you know so much about the Reliquary, why are you asking me to confirm who the Reliquary is?"

"Because the information is still classified. Once the Reliquary was found, Dempsey pulled us all off of the case, except for you. Most of the Hit Wizards moved on to other things, but the other team I'm on is still working on it, just from afar."

"Tell me more about this other team," she says, still lying by omission until she learns more about what McLaggen knows. McLaggen frowns at her.

"I'm not sure how much I should tell you," he says.

"Stop dicking around, Cormac," Pansy snaps. "You said you thought I was 'one of the good ones'," and here she uses air quotes. "Tell me about this other task force you're on, or I swear to Morgana I will take this to Dempsey. I take it she doesn't know?"

"Fine," McLaggen says. He takes a large sip of his G&T and swallows it. Then he takes a deep breath. "I'll level with you. There's a secret group within the Ministry who are working to undermine Tusneem's pro-Muggle cooperation agenda." Pansy is a fan of Tusneem's "Be a light in the darkness for our magic free allies" posters. She finds them wonderfully quaint.

"Is there?" She can't keep the sarcasm out of her tone. Winding up Cormac McLaggen come so naturally to her that even though they are discussing serious matters, she can't help herself.

"For fuck's sake, Parkinson, yes. Yes, there bloody well is." There is a flush in McLaggen's cheeks now.

"And you know this how?"

"Because I'm part of the group that's trying to thwart them. That's the special team I'm on." Pansy snorts with laughter. She takes a large sip of her whisky and soda water.

"Yeah, ok," she says.

"I'm being serious."

"I'm sure you are."

"Fucking hell, Parkinson." McLaggen says, his voice too loud for the Muffliato space they're in. The word Parkinson echoes around their booth for a moment. He has clearly reached the end of his patience. He turns his eyes to the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Then he lowers he gaze back to hers. "I'm part of the team that stole the Reliquary," he says.

Pansy swears that her heart stops beating for a moment. She stares at him, bug eyed.

"Oh, that got your attention, did it? Now will you take me seriously?"

"How?" she asks. "You were on the team that tried to stop Wood."

"Of course I was. That's my job. And I didn't interfere with our work, but I also didn't interfere with his."

"Well if you were working with him, you should know where Wood sent it then."

"It went to Potter, didn't it? They were lovers, after all," McLaggen says. Pansy had chosen the wrong time to take a sip of her drink and now chokes on it for a moment.

"They were _what_?" she asks once she can breathe properly again.

"Potter didn't tell you?"

"No, he bloody well didn't." She's going to wring his neck when she sees him. That is something that as a member of the team, he should have told her. She wonders if Draco knows. Then she wonders if it matters whether or not Draco knows. Oliver Wood is Draco's ex too after all and it might cause friction between them. Friction that could affect their cover story… She pushes the thought away.

"Why else do you think Oliver sent him the Reliquary?" McLaggen asks. And there it is again. The implication that Harry is the Reliquary, not Draco.

She is about to tell him the truth when doubt enters her mind. McLaggen had mentioned a group who were trying to undermine the Minister for Magic and had _said_ that he was part of the counter group, but she has no proof of this. For all she knows, Wood had been trying to steal the Reliquary for the "bad" group. What is to say he was actually part of the "good" group?

She frowns at McLaggen and crosses her arms.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asks. "How do I know you're not part of the group trying to undermine Tusneem?"

"Come on, Parkinson," McLaggen says. "You know me. I'm a good guy."

"Do I know you?" she asks. "All I know is that when we were in training together you we're a complete dickhead to me. That doesn't make you very good in my book." McLaggen purses his lips. He is silent for a long moment, and then he says,

"I'm sorry. I was an arse." Pansy raises an eyebrow at him. "A huge arse," he amends.

"You were," she agrees. "But apologizing doesn't automatically make it better. Nor does it prove to me that you're part of the group you say you're part of." McLaggen nods and chews the inside of his cheek.

"That's fair," he says. "There is no reason to trust me. And I'm not quite sure how to gain your trust on this matter."

"Then are we at an impasse?"

"Perhaps the Reliquary knows about our group," McLaggen says. "Where is Potter, anyway? I haven't seen him in weeks."

"We've just established that I don't trust you, McLaggen," Pansy says. "So why the hell would I tell you where he is?" McLaggen scrunches up his face.

"Fair," he says. They lapse into silence. Pansy' notices that her whisky and soda water is empty.

"I'm going to get another," she says, gesturing at it." Do you want anything?" She slides out of the booth and stands up. McLaggen nods and Pansy heads out to the front room. There is a gaggle of patrons around the bar, but she signals Hannah through the throng, and bless her Hufflepuff heart, Hannah makes her another whisky soda water on the spot and hands it over.

"And for him?" Hannah jerks her head towards the VIP room. Pansy nods and Hannah mixes up another gin and tonic as well.

"They're on your tab," she yells over the crowd and Pansy shoots her a thumbs up.

"I've got it," McLaggen says when she sits back down. "I'll bring you proof of what the Simurgh Society are up to."

"The what now?"

"The Simurgh Society," McLaggen says again. "The group trying to undermine Tusneem."

"That doesn't prove you're not a part of their group," Pansy says with a shrug. "You could just provide me with information that you know because you _are_ a part of it."

"Circe," McLaggen says, "What the hell do I have to do for you to trust me?"

"I would say undergo veritaserum, but we both know you're trained to resist that," Pansy says.

"Are you any good at Legilimency?" McLaggen asks. Pansy sighs. She was hoping it wouldn't come to this. She doesn't want to see into McLaggen's mind. She's sure it's full of things she doesn't want to see. Plus, she's sure he's trained in Occlumency. He could show her whatever he wanted her to see. But she supposes that's the point. He can show here what he wants her to see, and while it's possible that he _could_ fabricate things, Pansy has had training in spotting false memories.

"Of course I am, McLaggen," she snaps. "I'm fucking good at everything."

…

Legilimency on Cormac McLaggen goes exactly how Pansy would have expected it to. It doesn't help that they have both had alcohol. It means that Pansy's delving into McLaggen's mind is sharper than intended and it also means that McLaggen is far more loose with what he shows her.

She gets flashes of Mortimer Banks and McLaggen talking in whispers about the Reliquary. Flashes of McLaggen and Wood planning the heist to steal the Reliquary. Flashes of conversations between McLaggen and an unknown, cloaked figure talking about an overheard conversation regarding Simurgh's plan to redistribute Muggle real estate. Flashes of McLaggen fantasizing about renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron and slowly taking her clothes off - and then she pulls back out of his mind and slaps him.

"Ow."

":Shut up. You deserved it."

An image of McLaggen taking an Unbreakable Vow to protect Tusneem and his vision for the wizarding community.

"An Unbreakable Vow, McLaggen, really?"

"Yes, really."

A long memory of Wood's heist on the Ministry vault where Pansy sees that it is true that McLaggen didn't try to impede the Hit Wizards, but also helped Wood escape by being part of the group that broke down the door to the room where the Reliquary was housed and shooting spells in wildly wrong directions while Wood ran. Another image of what McLaggen thinks she would look like spread out on a bed, looking up at him, thankfully clothed. Another slap.

"Sorry. How can I not think about you when you're inside my head?"

"Try harder," she snarls.

Images of McLaggen trying to figure out where the Reliquary has gone, because it didn't end up in the safe house where Wood was supposed to go. Thoughts of "It must be with Potter." A long stretch of McLaggen following Harry's movements in his spare time. McLaggen asking Dempsey about the Reliquary investigation and getting nothing. McLaggen reporting back to his mysterious, hooded counterparts (why do all secret groups have to wear hooded cloaks?) that he doesn't know where the Reliquary is and he's sorry, but he's still working to make sure that the Simurgh Society can't do anything. A long memory of the night McLaggen brought Harry and Draco in for questioning. The bodies on the floor. Blood everywhere. McLaggen questioning Draco.

"Why were you with Harry Potter tonight?" McLaggen asks. Pansy watches as Draco frowns at him. Draco's eyes are slightly unfocussed.

"What are you getting at McLaggen? Harry's my boyfriend." Pansy is relieved that Draco keeps his cover. Of course he does. He's trained to.

"Is he?"

"Yes. I practically live with him."

"Oh that's cute. Do you love him?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I do," And Pansy isn't sure if that's the truth or not. Because Draco's been trained, and she knows he has. But it still seems so genuine.

"I felt that," McLaggen says.

"Felt what?"

"Your relief."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Pansy snaps.

"Draco Malfoy is the Reliquary, isn't he?" And then she feels him pushing into her mind. She tries to put her mental walls up, but she's not fast enough. "Holy shit, he is, isn't he?"

"Get out of my mind, McLaggen," Pansy hisses. She grits her teeth and slams down the hardest defenses she can. McLaggen physically flinches as she forces him out of her mind.

"But he's a civilian," McLaggen says, slumping back in his seat. "How the hell did that happen? Why would Oliver send it there?" He seems dazed.

"He's Wood's ex," Pansy says with a sigh. She supposes there is no point pretending it's Harry any longer. McLaggen knows it's Draco.

"And Malfoy read it?" She nods.

"Draco loves books. I'm sure he couldn't help himself."

"So you're what? His handler?"

"One of."

"Potter's the other one?" McLaggen asks. Pansy nods.

"And they're dating?"

"Cover story." McLaggen raises his eyebrows at this.

"If you say so," he mutters.

"Potter's not that stupid," Pansy says.

"Yes, he is. Just look at Oliver." Pansy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Shit," she says.

"Where are they, anyway?" McLaggen asks.

"Last I heard," Pansy says. "Switzerland."

"Switzerland?"

"Tracking some stolen object."

"That was more important than anything here?"

"It's supposed to lead to the Battaglia family," Pansy says. "Dempsey had some intel they were about to move something, and figured it might be the perfect opportunity to bring them down."

"I guess that's fair," McLaggen says. "But I wish they were here. The Reliquary could do what it was created to do - spot patterns in crimes." He reaches out to take another sip of his G&T, but it's empty. "You want another?" he asks, gesturing to Pansy's half finished drink.

"Sure." He leaves and Pansy leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. McLaggen's conversation with Draco runs through her mind again.

"Do you love him?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I do."

Even though Draco has had veritaserum training, Pansy thinks that confession was real. That idiot. Why did he have fall for his handler? Pansy supposes part of this is her fault. After all, it had been her idea for Draco's cover to be that he was dating Potter. She had suggested it for a laugh, and because they _had_ been on a date when she'd found them. Fuck, if anything bad came from this, it would be her fault.

But then, hadn't Potter always fought harder for the people he loved? Wasn't that part of his whole stupid, brave Gryffindorness? Whatever the case was, she would have to wait to question the pair of them about it. They were on a communications embargo while they were in Europe. Emergencies only. And this wasn't exactly an emergency. Even if McLaggen seemed to think it was.

But McLaggen had Pansy to help him now. She'd had plenty of success before the Reliquary even existed, just using her own brain. Pansy had always thought that had she not been in Slytherin, she might have been a Ravenclaw. Perhaps that was vanity, but she had always done well in her exams, both at school and since. And she was the youngest Major at least a decade. And it can't really be called vanity if it's true.

…

Harry and Draco do not manage to get anyone on recording stating that they're part of an international crime ring. The Battaglia family are not idiots. They know what not to talk about in public settings. But the evening is not a waste of their time. Both Draco and Harry have recording spells running the entire night, and they capture a lot of faces, along with a lot of innocuous, but perhaps not so innocuous, conversations. Draco sparks all night long, so much so that he feels like he needs to empty his brain. Luckily, Harry brought along pensieve phials, so Draco excuses himself to run to the restroom, where he puts thought after thought and memory after memory into every single phial Harry had handed him.

Though it feels like the absolute least they can be doing, Draco is sure that these memories will prove useful during any trial used to convict the Battaglias and their associates. He should know. Pensieve memories were used in the trial for his family, most notably those of his now boyfriend.

He really hasn't thanked Harry enough for fighting so hard to keep him out of Azkaban, because Draco knows that it is mostly due to Harry's testimony that he had stayed a free man. True, it had been hard to hear Harry say that Draco had been a coward for most of the war, but now, with ten years of reflection, Draco supposes it was probably true. He had done all the things that he had in order to save his own skin, while Harry had literally sacrificed himself for the wizarding world. Draco's not sure any number of blowjobs will be enough to thank Harry for all that he did.

He extracts one last memory from his mind and places it a phial. He corks it and places the phial in his inner, undetectably extended pocket and stands up. He flushes the toilet for good measure, just in case anyone is around, and then exits the stall. Just as he's walking to the sink, the door to the bathroom opens and Massi walks in. Draco forces a smile as Massi stumbles towards him.

"Draco," Massi slurs. He is clearly three sheets to the wind. "My favorite blond Englishman."

"Hello Massi," Draco says.

"I still can't believe you're here," Massi continues on as though Draco hadn't spoken. "I mean, what are the odds? I'm in Zermatt. You're in Zermatt. Now I'm here and you're here."

"What are you getting at?"

"It's almost like there's another reason you're here in Milan. I don't buy Harry's bullshit that you just wanted to because you had never been." Draco's blood runs cold. He thinks fast.

"That's because that's not the reason we're here," he hears himself say. "You're right."

"Oh?" Massi is now leaning against the wall next to the sinks, his arms crossed in front of him.

"We came here because I couldn't stop thinking about you," Draco says. He takes a step towards Massi.

"Is that so?"

"I know you put me under the imperius curse," Draco says. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "But you were right." He takes another step forward. He and Massi are very close now. Draco can smell the alcohol on Massi's breath. "I did want to suck your dick."

"Yeah?" Massi asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Draco wants to gag, but he forces himself to keep speaking.

"I still want to suck your dick." Massi uncrosses his arms and lowers them. Draco reaches out and takes one of Massi's hands. He tugs the other man close and looks up at him. He tells himself that Massi is just a pretty object. He's a mark. And right now he's wrapped around Draco's little finger. Quite literally. Massi has intertwined their fingers.

"Draco," Massi says. "You know I'm straight, right?"

"You're clearly at least a little curious," Draco whispers. He moves his face closer to Massi's.

"Mm," Massi says, his breath ghosting over Draco's lips. "Perhaps a little."

So Draco kisses the pretty object.


	23. Draco Versus the Goose Patronus

"I'm back," McLaggen announces, interrupting Pansy's thoughts by placing his gin and tonic and her whisky soda water on the table in front of her.

"I can see that." She drains the last of her old drink and sets the empty glass to the side of the table. "Thank you." He nods once.

"Where were we?"

"You were bemoaning the fact that the Reliquary was off on a European sojourn."

"Right."

"But no need to fret. You have me."

"Do you have an encyclopedic knowledge of all criminal activity in the wizarding world?" McLaggen asks, mock hopefully.

"No, you dick. But I have a brain and I'm better at our job than you are."

"Oh," McLaggen says, clapping a hand to his chest. "You wound me."

"Good. That was the point. Now tell me more about the Sim-whatchamacallit's plan to take over Muggle real estate." McLaggen takes a large quaff of his G&T. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

"OK," he says. "It's just a theory right now." Pansy narrows her eyes. "But it's based on an overheard conversation.

"Yes," Pansy says. "You showed me that conversation. It wasn't overly conclusive."

"Right, but I think I've spotted a pattern. Starting with the murder that Potter and Malfoy walked in on," McLaggen says.

"That could have been a murder-suicide."

"No," he says, his words clipped in irritation. "I told you, I think a wizard did it."

"So, not a murder-suicide?"

"No, there was the broken window. Which, if both Potter and Malfoy are to be believed, broke _after_ they arrived because they heard it shatter."

"Ok, so what?"

"My theory is that someone killed the victims, heard Potter and Malfoy coming, broke the window, jumped out and apparated mid-jump."

"But they were killed with a knife," Pansy protests. "A wizard wouldn't have done that. It's too messy."

"I'm not sure they were."

"Oh?"

"Blood splatter seemed inconsistent."

"Says who?"

"Someone on Forensics." Pansy sighs.

"Inconsistent how?" she asks.

"There wasn't the blood splatter one might expect from someone whose throat was cut. It appeared that they were dead before that happened."

"Has anyone run magical signature tests?"

"I tried," McLaggen says. "But I was too late. Anything that might have shown up had faded. You know the half life on those spells."

"Let me get this straight," Pansy says. "You arrived at a crime scene that had two wizards at it - who you arrested - but you didn't run magical signature traces on the victims?"

"I fucked up, ok?"

"That's not good enough, McLaggen. You say you're on this special task force, or whatever you want to call it, to prevent another secret group from doing whatever bad things you say they're trying to do-"

"-About that," McLaggen interrupts. "Another person died on Potter's street a day later."

"What?" Pansy is so distracted by this that she stops telling McLaggen off for his failure to check for magical signatures.

"He was in his eighties, so Muggle doctors think he died of old age."

"And you don't?"

"His wife died two months ago, also apparently from natural causes."

"So? They were old."

"Four people, dying on the same street in two months? That seems significant. Not to mention, the person who had owned Potter's house died of an apparent drug overdose in August."

"So, five people in four months," Pansy muses. "You might be on to something. But what does this have to do with undermining Tusneem?"

"We haven't figured that part out yet," McLaggen admits.

"Hang on," Pansy says. "Who is we?"

"We call ourselves the Coalition Undermining Nefarious Traitors."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Pansy asks. "You're cunts?" McLaggen's eyebrows go up and Pansy watches as extrapolates the first letters of each word.

"Oh, I'm going to kill Banks," he says, shaking his head. Pansy smirks.

"Well I'd rather be a cunt than a nefarious traitor," she says.

"Cheers to that." He holds out his drink and she rolls her eyes but clinks her glass against it nonetheless. "So you'll join us?"

"I'm not sure I want to go that far yet," she says. "But I'll help."

"Wonderful," he says. The word rolls around his mouth like a marble. "You're first-rate, you know that?"

"Ugh, I'm not doing this for _you_."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No, you dick."

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No, I suppose I don't." He sighs and takes a long sip of his drink. "Wish you'd give me a chance though."

"What? A chance for you to spread me out on a bed and fuck me?" McLaggen blushes at this and covers his face with his hands. "Oh don't play innocent with me now, McLaggen. I saw into your mind."

"Can you blame me? You're gorgeous."

"And you're a prick."

"I should have been more professional," McLaggen says.

"You should have, yes."

"I'm sorry. I'm just desperately single and rather tipsy."

"Not an excuse," she snaps.

"Wasn't saying it was." They lapse into silence. Pansy sips awkwardly at her drink and McLaggen twiddles his thumb.

"We could try being friends though," he suggests after a while.

"Only if you can get your head out of your arse."

"You know, I feel like I could say the same thing about you."

"Well at least I don't seem to think I'm god's gift to women," she snaps, leaning forward to glare at him.

"No," he retorts, leaning in to sneer at her. "You just think you're god's gift to all humanity."

"I can't help it if it's true," she says, smirking.

"Oh, Pansy Parkinson, you're going to be the death of me," he says as he leans far enough over the table to kiss her.

Pansy's eyes widen in shock. Her first impulse is to slap him again. Her second impulse is to tear all his clothes off and have him bend her over the table. Her third impulse is to slap herself.

But what about Greg? a small part of her brain asks. What _about_ Greg? Sure, they've ended up in bed together a few times, but they've never talked about what their relationship is - or even if it _is_ a relationship.

It's a flimsy excuse, but Pansy's had three drinks now and hate sex with Cormac McLaggen sounds oh so appealing. She's seen him in the training facility and knows exactly what kind of irritatingly attractive physique is under those robes.

She makes a split second decision. She pulls back and slaps him.

…

The bathroom door swings open and Draco steps sharply back from Massi. Massi stands dumbly, for a moment before he blinks, tosses his hair and laughs like Draco had just been telling him a funny joke. Massi reaches out and puts a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"That's a good one," he says. The older gentleman who has just entered the restroom frowns at them for a moment before he walks to the nearest urinal. Massi jerks his head towards the door. "Let's go." Draco nods and follows Massi out of the bathroom.

"You want to get out of here?" Massi asks once they are in the corridor.

"What about Harry?"

"What _about_ Harry?"

"We're just going to leave him?" Draco asks. He is stalling, trying not to leave alone with Massi. He trusts the man about as far as he can throw him.

"You think he's going to appreciate you sucking me off?" Massi asks. Draco shrugs.

"I think he might appreciate being involved."

"What? Like a threesome?" Draco shrugs again.

"Unless you're scared," he says. He hopes that Massi will take the bait. Draco will feel better about the whole thing if Harry is at least involved. There is still a knot of disgust in the pit of Draco's stomach, but if Harry is there, Draco feels much more like he they will be able to pull this off. Even if the this in question is Massi.

"Do you think he would go for it?"

"Yes," Draco says with confidence he doesn't feel. He hopes that Massi will give him a moment alone with Harry to explain what is going on, but he doubts he will be that lucky.

"Alright," Massi says. "But no one fucks me, ok?"

"Ok."

…

"What?" McLaggen blinks at Pansy, stunned from the slap.

"You're so fucking presumptuous," Pansy says. She slides out of the booth and drains the last of her drink. McLaggen hasn't moved. He is still leaning over the table, staring dumbly at her. She almost slaps him again. She can't believe that she briefly thought about sleeping with him. What had come over her?

Hormones. Of course. And alcohol. Pansy curses the fact that it is that particular time of the month where she finds herself wanting to screw anyone who gives her a second glance. Sometimes being a woman is a fucking nightmare. She wonders what Greg would say if she showed up on his doorstep right now.

Probably 'yes'.

But does she want that? She is wary of forming deep connections with people. She's been burned too many times before. At school, during Hit Wizard training, the last time she dated someone. Maybe meaningless hate sex with McLaggen would be better?

He has sat back down in his seat but is still staring at her, not saying anything.

"What?" she snaps at him. He shakes himself.

"I don't know," he says. "I think I read the room wrong."

"I would say so," she says. She stands a short way away from the booth. She crosses her arms and stares at him.

"I just thought - the banter - that it was flirting."

"Banter? I was insulting you."

"Sometimes that counts as flirting," he mumbles. He pulls his glass to himself and drains the last of his gin and tonic.

"What? Do you think we're eleven? Grow up, McLaggen." He pushes himself up from the booth and slides out. He runs a rueful hand through his hair and then turns back to the booth in order to collect his empty glass.

"Sorry," he says. He turns to walk out of the VIP area. "I'll let you know if I hear any more about those murders. Or houses, or whatever." He sounds so defeated, Pansy almost caves.

"Sounds good," she says and watches as the door shuts behind him.

Then she apparates straight to Greg's doorstep and kisses him as soon as he opens the door.

…

Draco sidles into the Battaglia family box and walks up behind Harry's chair. Harry is drowsing in his seat at the back of the box. He keeps jerking awake again every few seconds.

"Hey lover," Draco leans down and whispers in his ear. Harry sits upright, instantly awake.

"What?" he asks.

"Just go along with this, ok?"

"Sure."

"I'll explain fully later."

"I trust you."

"Come on," Draco says. "We're leaving." Harry nods once and stands up. It doesn't feel safe to say any more right now, with all the family around. They both grab their coats from where they have stashed them by the door and then exit the box. Draco's not sure any other member of the family has noticed. They are all very caught up in the opera.

Massi is waiting for them in the corridor. He is already wearing his coat. He says nothing, only jerks his head in the direction he wants them to go and they follow. Draco swings his coat on as he walks.

"Side-along?" Massi asks once they reach the foyer of the theater.

"What?" Harry says. "Here?"

"No." Massi gives him a withering look. "There's a side alley."

"Of course," Harry says quickly. They follow Massi to the alley and he grips both of their arms. A thrill of fear goes through Draco. Massi could take them anywhere. But, he reasons, they outnumber him two to one. And he's with Harry fucking Potter after all.

…

"Welcome to my home," Massi says. They are in a grand entrance hall with a fifteen foot ceiling (at least), an intricate mosaic covered floor and marble pillars. There are various statues scattered around the room, which Draco can tell at a glance are from Roman times. It should look classy, but it doesn't - it looks gauche.

"It's lovely," Draco says. "This floor is spectacular." It is not. The mosaics clearly depict Muggle torture, from people being hung upside down by people with wands aloft, to Muggles who have been torn limb from limb, but haven't been allowed to die, to Muggles being boiled alive in cauldrons. It is made all the more horrifying by the fact that the mosaic is constantly moving. Draco tries hard not to look at it.

"This is the only place in the whole house that you can apparate to or from," Massi says. "We have incredible wards."

"Cool," Draco says. He makes a mental note of where in the entrance hall this spot is. Right under the large dome in the ceiling.

"We brought in specialists," Massi says and Draco realizes that Massi thinks this is impressive.

"Wish my house had that," he says.

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "You must be quite important, Massi."

"You don't know the half of it." Massi smirks at them. "Drinks?" He leads them from the entrance hall into an equally over the top sitting room. There is a decanter set in the corner which they follow him to. He pours three measures of what appears to be whisky, judging by the silver tag on the bottle. They toast and Massi gestures for them to sit down.

As he does, a flash of silver enters the room and resolves itself into a goose patronus. It speaks to Massi in rapid fire Italian. Draco looks at Harry who shrugs. They have been pretending that they don't understand Italian all night. It's true in Harry's case, but Draco had been pleasantly surprised when the Reliquary began translating things in his head. He listens intently to the patronus. He keeps a bored, pleasant expression on his face even as what Massi's father is saying slowly becomes clear.

Massi had not been supposed to leave the theater that night, and it had ruined all of the plans that the family had. They'd been informed by a friend that Harry Potter works for the British Ministry and they had been planning to, shall we say incapacitate him. But the heads of the family had conferred and now they think it's best if they take care of Harry at the important dinner with the Luczkowski family on Wednesday. There will be so many bodies, he might get lost in the shuffle. So Massi needs to keep Potter and his blond harlot close. The family doesn't care how he does it, but they're Massi's responsibility now. Oh, and sometime before the dinner on Wednesday, Massi needs to pick up their newly acquired Hand of Glory.

A den of vipers indeed.

"What was that?" Draco asks once the patronus has finished speaking and has vanished. Massi is pale but trying to play it off like nothing is wrong.

"Oh, nothing," he says. "My father just wanted to let me know that he liked you both so much that you should come and stay with us. None of this hotel nonsense."

"That's very kind of him," Harry says. "But we couldn't."

"He insists. We have plenty of space. Plus, I thought you were spending tonight in my bed anyway." Harry catches Draco's eye and Draco returns his stare cooly, praying that Harry will pick up on what he's trying to convey.

"I think I might have missed something," Harry says. "Did you invite us back here for a threesome?"

"Did Draco not tell you?"

"He just told we were going to do something fun," Harry says. He leans back comfortably in his chair and takes a sip of his whisky.

"Well, was he right?"

"Of course. I just thought you'd said you were into women." An amused smile plays across Harry's lips. Draco is amazed at how at ease he looks. But then, Harry's had training for this. And he doesn't know what Draco knows. Unfortunately, Draco can't bring him up to speed until he gets Harry alone and for that, it seems that Massi will need to be asleep. Perhaps in a post coital haze.

"Massi wanted a bit of an adventure tonight," Draco says.

"And you said you wanted to suck my cock," Massi shoots back. Draco smirks and shrugs.

"What of it?"

"All this talk of cock sucking and threesomes is making me horny," Harry says. "Why are we sitting here drinking and not naked in a bed?"

"Massi needs the liquid courage," Draco says.

"I do not," Massi protests.

"It's ok to be nervous," Harry says. He crosses his ankle across his knee and lounges almost further back in his chair. He looks very at home and it is a stark contrast to Massi who is sitting ramrod straight in his chair, clutching his drink like it's going to save him from this situation. Harry hadn't even understood the patronus's message and yet he is still playing the situation they way Draco would have. He supposes Harry must be feeding off of what he is doing and not for the first time he marvels at what a great team they make.

"I'm _not_ nervous."

"And if you can't get it up, that's fine too," Draco adds.

"I'm very good at getting dicks up," Harry says with a wink.

"He is," Draco agrees.

"I'm not nervous," Massi repeats.

"Well, drink up buttercup," Harry says. He takes a large sip of his whisky. "I want to see what's under those clothes." Something akin to unease crosses Massi's face and Draco feels guilt for the briefest of moments before it is replaced with vindication that they have made Massi feel how he made both Draco and those women feel the week before. Perhaps he will learn his lesson. Plus, he reminds himself, Massi's family are plotting to kill Harry, and quite possibly Draco, so they deserve everything that's coming to them.

But they'll get out of this. Harry is sure to come up with a plan once Draco tells him what the patronus said. Draco wonders at the audacity of them assuming that Draco is harmless. But it is not the first time someone has underestimated him. Blond harlot. How dare they?

…

Massi's bedroom reminds Draco a lot of his bedroom in Malfoy Manor. It is spacious and tidy, with bookshelves lining one wall, a sitting area with a fireplace, and a large four poster bed that is large enough to sleep three comfortably. Which is good, as that is what they are anticipating happening.

Draco is nervous as they cross the threshold, and he reaches out and brushes his hand against Harry's. The contact puts him more at ease. He is with Harry. Harry won't let anything bad happen to him.

"So," Massi says, swinging his arms awkwardly. "How does this work?"

"Get your kit off," Harry says. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of the sofa that sits in front of the fireplace. Draco follows suit, though he places his jacket more carefully than Harry does, worried about the glass memory phials in the pockets. The undetectable extension charms should keep them safe, but one can never be too careful.

"What? Just get naked?" Massi looks scandalized. "No foreplay?"

"Oh," Harry says. "You want kissing and romance and all of that? You should have said. I thought you just wanted to fuck. That seemed more your style the other day." Massi flushes.

"I just mean, why not take our time? We have all night."

"That's true," Harry says. He crosses the room until he is standing in front of Massi. Then he extends an arm and rests his hand on Massi's shoulder. Draco feels a flare of jealousy go through him. He tamps it down. He doesn't have the luxury of thinking about his feelings right now. They need Massi to think they are here because of him, and that they're going to stay because of him. Because the inklings of a plan are starting to form in the back of Draco's mind. A plan to keep Harry alive _and_ bring in the Battaglia family.

He watches as Harry gently massages Massi's shoulder through his suit jacket, before slipping his hand inside the lapel and sliding the jacket off of one arm. Harry moves behind Massi and pulls the jacket off of his other arm. He throws the jacket away - it lands in a heap on the floor near the sitting area - and slips an arm around Massi's waist as he steps back in front of him. Massi arches an eyebrow at him and Harry tugs Massi flush against him, slipping one leg in between Massi's.

Draco has never seen this suave side of Harry before. He had never needed to seduce Draco - Draco had been more than willing to drop trou without it. Now he half wishes he'd played a little harder to get.

He saunters over to the pair of them. They are intently staring at each other. Draco wonders who will blink first. Then he decides he doesn't want to only be an observer, so he presses up against Massi's side, one arm around Harry's shoulders, the other around Massi's back. They're still both staring at each other, so Draco dips his head and begins to move his lips down Massi's neck. As he does, Harry closes the gap between himself and Massi and presses their lips together.

Draco's nostrils are overwhelmed by the scent of Massi's cologne. He smells like eucalyptus, and its coldness seems fitting. He's the opposite of Harry's warm bergamot and citrus.

Draco moves his right hand off of Harry and uses it instead to undo the top pair of Massi's shirt buttons. Then he cups Massi's face and turns it towards him, breaking Harry and Massi's kiss. He moves his lips up Massi's neck to his face. And then their mouths are moving against each other.

Massi is tentative with it, like he's still not sure how he got himself into this situation, but slowly his shoulders relax. Draco pushes his tongue into Massi's mouth and tastes the whisky Massi had just been drinking. He feels Harry's mouth on his neck and Harry's hands on his shirt buttons. He keeps his mouth pressed to Massi's, but returns to his one handed disrobing attempts and soon both his and Massi's shirts are hanging open.

Draco shrugs out of his shirt and feels Harry's hands on his torso. He pulls away from Massi and jerks his head towards Massi. Harry understands the unspoken communication and presses his mouth to Massi's. Draco pulls Massi's shirt off of his shoulders and Massi lets him. The Italian's hand scrabble maladroitly with Harry's buttons but eventually gets them undone. Massi pulls away from Harry and pushes him towards Draco.

Draco suppresses a moan as Harry's lips meet his. Harry feels like home. Kissing Harry makes Draco feel less like this entire situation is fucked, and more like things are going to work out - even as Massi's hands tentatively roam Draco's chest and ever so slowly make their way down to the tops of his trousers. Draco moves his own hand southwards and squeezes Massi's ass. He has to admit that it is a very nice ass.

As Draco had told himself earlier. Massi's a pretty object. That much hasn't changed.

Only now Harry has Massi's trousers undone and is easing them down over his thighs. Massi's boxers are tented out over his erection, which Draco is half surprised to see that he has. Perhaps he's not as nervous as he seems. Draco quickly removes his own trousers - he's done waiting for anyone else to disrobe him - and then Harry is the only one still mostly clothed. Draco makes quick work of that and then begins herding them towards the massive bed. They fall onto it in a tangle of limbs.

They take a moment to reorient themselves in the center of the bed. Massi ends up on the bottom, with Draco and Harry both hovering over him.

"Honestly," Harry says, hooking a finger under the waistband of Massi's boxers. "Why are these even still on?"

"Har," Draco says. "I could say the same about you."

"So that's it then?" Massi asks. "We're all getting naked?"

"Looks like it," Draco says. He turns until he is lying on his back next to Massi and shimmies out of his underwear. His own erection pops loose from its cloth confinement. He turns his head and sees Massi staring at it. "You like what you see?"

"Uh," Massi stammers. Draco shrugs and turns to Massi. He pulls the other man's boxers down and Massi doesn't protest. He looks him right in the eye, unblinking, as he then reaches out and wraps his hand around Massi's dick.

He sees Massi gulp, but he doesn't protest and he doesn't take his eyes from Draco's. Massi pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and worries at it. And goddamn if it's not sexy. And even as Draco thinks that, he hates Massi for it. For being so damn attractive that he can be a complete arsehole and yet have Draco still want to fuck him.

Fuck it, Draco thinks. There's no point thinking about how much of a dick Massi is right now. He's going to let pheromones and hormones and whatever the fuck else take over.

Draco lets go of Massi's dick and instead turns the other man on his side, so they're face to face. He shifts closer and then wraps both of their cocks together in his hand. Massi lets his lower lip slide out from between his teeth. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

"You like that?" Draco whispers.

"Non lo so," Massi says. Draco frowns at him, keeping up the pretense that he can't understand Italian. "I don't know." Draco smirks and begins to move his hand up and down. Massi closes his eyes. "Si. Mi piace." Draco doesn't need to understand much Italian to know that he means yes.

Then his eyes fly open and he looks panicked. Draco looks past him to see that Harry has pressed up against Massi on the other side, effectively making a Massi sandwich with Harry and Draco as the bread.

"Harry," Draco says. "Massi only wants to be a top."

"I'm not doing anything," Harry protests.

"I was just surprised by him," Massi says. "That's all. Please Draco, keep doing what you were doing."

"Are you sure you're comfortable with everything, Massi?" Draco asks. "We can always just leave."

"No," Massi cries. "You should definitely stay. Yes, you should stay all night. And as I said earlier, you should forget your hotel and stay with us." Harry catches Draco's eye over Massi's shoulder and raises his eyebrows. Draco stares back at him and after a long moment, Harry nods.

"What about our clothes?" Draco asks once he thinks Harry has understood him.

"One of you can collect them tomorrow," Massi says. "But right now." He doesn't finish his sentence, instead he leans forward to capture Draco's lips.

…

Later, when Massi is asleep, they hold a brief, whispered conversation. Draco tells Harry what he heard from the patronus and his start of a plan.

"I don't know what the Hand of Glory is for," Draco whispers. "But if I were part of a crime family looking to take out my rivals-" at this, Harry raises his eyebrows and Draco glares at him "-I might use Peruvian Instant Darkness powder when they're not expecting it, and then ambush them since I can see using my Hand of Glory."

"Like you did to me," Harry whispers back.

"I didn't ambush you," Draco hisses. "I just used it to get away."

"So it seems like we're going to need a Hand of Glory of our own then, if we're going to get out of this unscathed." Draco nods. "I don't suppose you still have yours?"

"Please, the Ministry confiscated it _years_ ago."

"Worth a shot," Harry says with a shrug. "No matter. I have one."

"You _what_?"

"For Ministry emergencies."

"Fair, I suppose," Draco says.

"And we have the cloak," Harry continues. Draco nods again. He has a knot of worry in the pit of his stomach. Harry must notice something on his face because he puts a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "It's going to be ok."

"So you keep saying."

…

"Draco," Massi says as they lounge on his overly large bed the following morning. He is munching on some toast that a house elf delivered on a tray. "Can I show you the city today?"

"Sure," Draco says. "But what about Harry?"

"He can get your bags from the hotel, right Harry?" It is a very obvious ploy to keep them apart, and to make sure they don't leave. But they are playing along because that is the only way they're going to be able to recover the stolen object and/or bring the Battaglia family in to the Polizia Magica.

"Of course," Harry says. "It's probably best if I do that either way as the hotel room is in my name." It is not, but it's a convenient lie.

"Great," Massi says, clapping his hands together and spraying toast crumbs everywhere. "We can meet back here for lunch, after which I think we should go swimming."

"Swimming?" Draco asks. "But it's December."

"We have an indoor pool," Massi explains. "And a hot tub."

"Do you mean to say we can get drunk in a hot tub like we did in Zermatt?" Draco asks. Massi smiles and nods.

"Only this time we can be naked."

"For someone who claims to be straight," Harry says. "You sure seem interested in getting us naked with us."

"What can I say? I like sex." Massi reaches out and places a hand on Draco's hip. Draco shakes his head.

"Not now, Massi, there are toast crumbs everywhere."


	24. Draco Versus the Wunderkammer

Massi takes Draco to the Galleria, or, more accurately, to the office across the street from the Galleria. Draco is amazed at his brazenness until he realizes that Massi either thinks that Draco is a dumb civilian, or that he's expendable. Draco's not sure which one hurts more.

"The most impressive collection in the city is housed here," Massi says, taking Draco's hand and leading him through locked door after locked door.

"It certainly seems well guarded," Draco says.

"My family is very protective of the things it cares about." As he says this, Massi rests a hand on Draco's back. Draco isn't sure if he should read anything into the gesture or not. He bites his lip nervously, and he's not acting. Massi's actions are starting to concern him. Is it possible Massi is showing him this because he likes him? "Come, come," Massi says and nudges Draco through the next door.

Draco finds himself in a giant, vaulted room. He sucks in a breath as he looks around. There are display cases in rows that go on as far as his eyes can see. There is no way that this is not a magically extended room.

"Wow," Draco says, his voice breathy.

"This Wunderkammer is the largest collection of magical artifacts on the continent," Massi says proudly.

"No kidding." Draco feels Massi walk up beside him and take his hand.

"What do you think?" Massi asks quietly.

"It's incredible," Draco says. Because it is. Draco only hopes that he can correctly remember how to get in here. He hasn't dared use any recording spells for fear that there are detection spells.

"Come," Massi says, dragging Draco along by his hand. "Let's look at some things." He seems to pick a row of display cases at random and pulls Draco down the row. "Here we have the charred wand of Wendelin the Weird."

"Ah yes. She enjoyed being burnt at the stake so much that she allowed herself to be caught no fewer than forty-seven times," Draco says, nodding. He remembers her from his History of Magic classes. Or, more accurately, from reading his History of Magic books. Professor Binns's classes had been little more than nap time.

"How did you know that?"

"I read about her once." Massi nods and places a hand on the small of Draco's back, steering him to the next display. It holds a large, golden chalice inscribed with runes.

Draco listens with mild interest as Massi takes him from object to object, and then row to row. He nods and smiles at the right times. He asks the right questions. He is unfailingly polite. And all the time, Massi's hand inches its way farther around Draco's waist.

"This," Massi says proudly as they reach the end of one of the rows. "Is a Hand of Glory made from the hand of Lord Voldemort himself." Draco flinches. He can't help it. He half expects the taboo name to bring Death Eaters to their current location, and worse than that, the Dark Lord himself. Even though Draco knows he has been dead for years, he still has that visceral fear. Massi notices his discomfort.

"Right," he says. "Sorry - I forgot your family supported him." Draco lets out a shaky breath.

"I was just surprised to hear his name, is all," he says. His heart is hammering in his chest. Of all the things he would have thought Massi would show him - that he thought even existed in the world - this was not one of them. He forces himself to look at the Hand. It is shriveled and dried, just like the Hand of Glory that he bought at Borgin and Burke's before his sixth year. It could be any Hand of Glory. Oddly, this makes it seem less sinister to Draco.

"According to my father," Massi continues. "It's the strongest Hand of Glory ever created. I mean, for obvious reasons." Draco nods. "It can cover multiple people at once."

"Oh?" Draco asks.

"Do you not know how a Hand of Glory works?" Massi doesn't wait for an answer, just launches into an explanation of their use. Draco nods along as Massi tells him this Hand of Glory allows up to ten people to see in the dark at a time - and they don't even have to be touching. "And the best part is, no one else can see the light." He looks delighted. Draco smiles.

"How useful," he says. "The one I used to have only worked for me."

"What happened to it?"

"Confiscated."

"By your parents?"

"By the government."

"Those bitches," Massi says. Draco nods slowly. He has been so fixated on the Hand of Glory that he only just notices that Massi is standing in front of him. He is so close that they are practically touching. Massi reaches out and threads his arm around Draco's waist and closes the space between them. Draco looks the other man in the face and raises his eyebrows.

"What?" Massi asks, shrugging his shoulders. Draco cocks his head to the side. Massi smirks. "Fine," he says. "If you must know, I like you, Draco. Fucking you last night opened my eyes to things I had never thought about before."

"Like fucking men, you mean?" Massi frowns and shakes his head.

"I don't want to fuck any other men. Just you. Cazzo, Draco. I really like _you_." He reaches up a hand and tucks a stray strand of Draco's hair behind his ear.

"Is that why you tried to coerce me into sucking your dick at the club?" Massi scrunches up his face.

"I'm so sorry about that night," he says. "The truth is-" he stops and chews his lip, staring at the ground. He takes a deep breath. "The truth is, I'm very attracted to you and I don't know why. You're the only man I've ever felt attracted to. And that night, I thought I would never see you again and I wanted the experience." Draco raises one eyebrow and regards Massi coolly.

"That's not an excuse," he says.

"I know. I can't tell you how terrible I feel." He pauses, tilting his head to the side. "Is there any way I can make it up to you? Or to show you how much I like you?"

"I'm dating someone," Draco says flatly, shaking his head.

"What if," Massi says, bucking his hips slightly into Draco's and lifting the corner of his mouth in a smirk. "What if you dated both of us?"

"I don't understand."

"It can be like last night. I fuck you. You fuck Harry. We all win."

"I'm not generally a bottom."

"What does that mean?"

"It means usually I do the fucking."

"Well, you seemed to enjoy last night?" Massi sounds suddenly unsure.

"It's not that I don't enjoy it. I just prefer the other way," Draco says. He's not sure why, but he feels as though he needs to reassure Massi about last night. The lines are starting to get blurred in Draco's mind.

Is Massi actually an arsehole? Was he really just wanting one night with Draco in Zermatt and didn't know how to go about doing it? Is Massi just playing Draco like he and Harry are playing him? Or does he actually like him? And if he does, what does that mean?

It doesn't help that Draco can now picture Massi moving above him, crying out his name. Or that he had very much enjoyed it.

Fuck.

Draco should have just gotten on his knees in that bathroom and been done with it.

Massi takes a deep breath.

"I could," he starts to say. He stops and chews his lower lip for a moment. "I could let you, how do you say it? Top me?" He looks so earnest that Draco almost believes him. "If you want."

"Is that really what you want?" Draco asks. "Yesterday you insisted that no one fuck you."

"For you, yes." Massi's face is open. His brown eyes are wide and hopeful. His face is framed by the gentle waves of his hair. His lips are pink from where he's been chewing on them. And so Draco calls him on it.

He pushes Massi against the cabinet that holds the Hand of Glory and kisses him roughly. Massi hesitates for a moment before returning the kisses with the same vigor. There is none of the careful hesitation from the night before. Instead, Massi's tongue plunders his mouth greedily and their hands grope each other with a new insistence.

Draco peels off his coat, letting it fall to the floor, and pushes his hands inside Massi's, struggling to get the jacket off in as smooth of a manner as Harry had yesterday.

Harry.

A spark of guilt flashes through Draco, but he paws it away as he paws his hands across Massi's chest. He fumbles with Massi's buttons while Massi fumbles with his. And then Massi is shirtless and pressed up against him, bare skin on bare skin. Draco pulls his mouth away from Massi's and instead trails a line of kisses down his neck, and then down his torso until he is kneeling in front of him.

Draco reaches up and unbuckles Massi's belt. He deftly pops open the top button of Massi's trousers and then slowly unzips his fly. He looks up. Massi is staring down at him, undone, his bottom lip between his teeth. Draco doesn't break eye contact as he slowly pulls Massi's trousers down, underwear with them. As Massi's erection comes free from his pants, it bobs up and hits Draco gently on the cheek. Draco turns his head slightly and flicks his tongue out, just enough to lightly run it down Massi's shaft. Then he stands up abruptly.

"Why did you stop?" Massi asks.

"Because I'm not going to suck your cock right now," Draco says, pushing up against Massi. He puts his mouth next to Massi's ear and whispers, "I'm going to bend you over this cabinet and fuck you until you cry out my name." Massi inhales sharply and Draco gently nips his earlobe. He finds the idea of fucking Massi over the Voldemort Hand of Glory perversely exciting. A big 'fuck you' to the Dark Lord, if you will.

"OK," Massi says. He sounds nervous.

"We'll take it slow," Draco says, now nuzzling Massi's neck. "And I know some useful spells." He pulls his wand out of his trouser pocket and rests it on the cabinet behind Massi. He is about to unbuckle his own belt when he feels Massi doing it for him. Instead he brings his hands up and tangles them into Massi's hair, pulling Massi's mouth back onto his.

Massi's mouth is hot and eager and Draco loses himself just kissing him for a moment, until he feels Massi pulling his trousers down around his thighs. Then the reality of the situation seems to catch up with Draco's brain.

This is a terrible idea. He should not be doing this. He shouldn't even want to be doing this. And yet, he can't stop himself. He doesn't want to stop himself.

He picks his wand up from the cabinet and performs a pair of nonverbal spells. He knows they have worked when Massi suddenly stops kissing him.

"Was that-"

"-That was me, yes," Draco says. "Just getting things ready. No rush." Massi nods slowly. "We can stop if you want," Draco says. A part of him hopes Massi that will say that yes, they should stop. Because this much Draco feels he could explain to Harry. Keeping their cover intact and what not. But Massi shakes his head.

"No, I want to," he says.

And goddamnit, Draco wants it too.

Particularly when Massi starts tugging on his cock, his hand moving in a fast rhythm. Draco kisses him again and then gently begins to turn him around. Massi lets go of Draco's cock and instead puts his hands flat on the cabinet, allowing himself to be bent over it.

Draco starts by running his hands over Massi's back, slowly working his way southwards. Massi shivers under the contact. When Draco reaches his arse, he slows. He circles Massi's hole gently with one index finger and Massi shivers again. The spells that Draco had performed have made him looser and provided some lubrication. He gently pushes one finger inside, slowly, letting Massi acclimate to it. Then he kicks Massi's feet wider apart.

"Is this okay?" he asks. He's very cognizant of the fact that this is Massi's first time.

"Yes," Massi says. So Draco adds a second finger. The spells that Draco cast are certainly helping, as Massi doesn't complain even when Draco adds a third.

"How is it?" Draco asks. "Is it what you expected?"

"I don't know what I expected," Massi says. "But this is ok."

"Are you ready for me to put it in?" Draco asks after a long moment.

"I think so?"

"It's going to be a little bigger," Draco says.

"I know. I've seen it." Draco smirks and pulls his fingers out. He picks up his wand with his other hand and says another quick lubrication spell, this time on himself. Then he lines himself up.

"Are you ready?" Massi nods and Draco pushes himself in. He goes slowly, letting Massi get used to him. When he's about halfway in, Massi motions for him to stop, so Draco does.

"Would it help if I?" Draco asks, reaching around to grasp Massi's erection. As he gives it a few pulls, his hips involuntarily rock, but Massi doesn't tell him to stop. Instead he says,

"Si, go on."

So Draco starts thrusting. He doesn't go far with each thrust, just enough to get some friction, but with each rock of his hips, he gets a little deeper. He keeps up the rhythm of his hand, matching it with the rhythm of his thrusts, and before he has the chance to ask Massi if it's alright or not, he's all the way in.

"How's this?" Draco asks.

"Mi piace."

"English, please. I'm not sure what you just said."

"It's good. I like it. Keep going." Massi is breathless, his voice husky. Draco ups the tempo. He can feel himself getting close, but he won't let himself go over the edge until Massi has. He begins to work through long multiplication sums in his head - the math taking his mind off of the rising pleasure for a moment. It is one of the reasons he prefers to be on top. He likes to make sure his partner finishes first, and it's something he's good at doing.

"Si," Massi cries. "Oh, Draco, si, scopami. Dammelo tutto." Draco doesn't bother to ask for the English. He hopes that Massi will assume all sex language is universal. In all fairness, Draco is hardly listening to the Reliquary's translations. He's too caught up in the moment. But he understands the cries of yes.

He feels the moment that Massi comes, both on his hand and around him and he lets himself come as well. He cries out, only stopping himself from saying Harry's name at the last moment.

When he's finished, he doesn't pull out immediately. Massi is still bent over the display case, and Draco notes with satisfaction that there is cum all over the case. He lets go of Massi's cock and instead runs his hands over the other man's back. As he feels himself growing soft again, he gently pulls out. He picks up his wand and performs the necessary cleaning spells.

"Cazzo è stato incredibile," Massi mutters, still slumped, boneless, over the display case. _That was fucking amazing_ , the Reliquary supplies.

"English," Draco says gently. He steps away from Massi and bends down to pulls his trousers back up. "Unless you're saying that was the worst thing that ever happened to you, in which case, please continue in Italian."

"It wasn't terrible," Massi says. He puts his palms flat on top of the display case and pushes himself upright. "In fact, it was pretty good."

"Pretty good?" Draco asks, arching an eyebrow. "You were crying out the one word in Italian that I understand, along with my name. It sounds to me like it was more than 'pretty good'." The side of Massi's face that Draco can see flushes red. He glances quickly at Draco and then looks away.

"Ok, so I liked it," Massi says. He shrugs one of his shoulders and then bends down quickly to retrieve his own trousers.

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying it," Draco says. He reaches out, puts his hands on Massi's shoulders and then turns Massi around to face him. Massi refuses to look him in the eye and Draco stifles a sigh. It's not the first time he's fucked someone, only to have them regret it after the fact. Draco bends and moves his head until he is in Massi's sight line. "Really, there's nothing wrong," he says. Massi blinks and frowns.

"But there is," he says quietly. Draco straightens up and grasps Massi's chin in one hand, forcing his head up.

"No, there is not," he says, forcing the eye contact.

"But there is," Massi says again. "I'm not allowed to like you."

"I call bullshit on that. It's 2008. You're allowed to like whoever you like."

"Draco," Massi says. "You don't get it. It's not because you're a guy. My parents wouldn't give a shit about that. It's because you're an enemy of the family. I shouldn't have let it go this far. My father was right. I'm a terrible heir to the family." Draco feels like he's had a bucket of ice poured over him. He makes himself take a deep breath, even as fear floods his brain.

"Come again?" he says. He's amazed that he manages to get these three syllables out without his voice shaking. Sure, he knew that they were onto Harry, but he thought at the very least he was just an innocent civilian. Not an enemy of the family.

"Cazzo," Massi says, more to himself than to Draco. "I've said too much."

"Are you planning on killing me?"

"What?"

"I know your family is mafia, Massi." Draco says. "That's generally what the mafia do to enemies of the family."

"Cazzo."

"It's fine. I get it. My family is the same way. I mean, have you heard of the Malfoys before?" It is perhaps stretching the truth, but Draco runs with it.

"In passing," Massi says. "Your family is not overly active these days."

"My parents are old," Draco says, thinking fast so as not to be on the Battaglia family kill list. After all, if there is anything that Draco Malfoy is all about, it is not getting himself killed. Even if it makes him a coward. "And they're under strict Ministry surveillance." Massi nods slowly. "Ah, fuck, Massi. This is not going how the way I planned."

"What do you mean?" Massi now looks confused.

"Fuck. I probably should have been honest with you from the start."

"From the start?" Massi narrows his eyes in suspicion. Draco nods. He takes one of Massi's hands and swings it between them.

"I know I said we followed you here because I wanted to suck your dick, but the truth is, it was not a coincidence that we ran into you in Zermatt."

"What?" Massi's eyes go wide. He attempts to snatch his hand away but Draco holds fast.

"I've been trying to get in contact with your family for months."

"You have?"

"The Malfoys want to do business with you. My parents can't leave their Wiltshire Manor, but that doesn't mean they're retired. Which is why I'm here. We would like to propose an alliance."

"You what?"

"Most of our money was taken in war reparations, and we want it back. We think the best way to go about that is by partnering with one of the most influential crime families in Europe."

"And why would we want to work with you?"

"Our brand," Draco says without hesitation. "The patina that comes from associating yourselves with the Malfoy name. We go back centuries - all pureblood, of course."

"I suppose we could bring the idea to my father," Massi says slowly. He bends down and retrieves his shirt from the floor and shrugs into it.

"I think it would be a mutually beneficial partnership," Draco presses on. "You could get a toehold in the UK through us and we would have another potential revenue source." Massi nods, considering this. "Plus, you would get to see me. We could even look more closely at that idea of me dating you as well."

"You would want that?" Massi asks.

"If we're being honest," Draco says. "I want to keep fucking you. That wasn't the original goal but I would be a liar if I said I didn't want to do that again."

"It was nice," Massi says, a smile playing around his lips.

"So you'll convince your family not to kill me? That I'm not an enemy of the family?"

"Yes," Massi says.

"I still can't believe you were even considering it," Draco says. He lifts a hand and runs a finger down Massi's cheek. "You seemed pretty into me last night."

"I'm sorry," Massi says.

"No need to be sorry," Draco says. He leans in and kisses Massi, running is tongue over Massi's bottom lip before sucking it gently. Massi makes a small sound at the back of his throat and pulls him flush against him again. Then he gently pulls away.

"As much as I would like to keep doing this," he says. "We need to get back to the house."

"True," Draco says. "Harry will probably be back by now." Massi tenses at the mention of Harry. "What?"

"Nothing," Massi says.

"Are you worried about the logistics of me dating the both of you?" Draco asks.

"It's complicated," Massi says, not looking at Draco again. Draco frowns. He reaches out and lifts Massi's chin with one hand.

"Why?" he asks softly. He presses his forehead against Massi's. Then he shifts his head to the side and ghosts his lips over Massi's. "Why is it complicated?"

"Because," Massi starts to say. He is clearly flustered. Draco moves his head again and nuzzles Massi's neck. "Affanculo - because the other person you're dating works for the British Ministry of Magic, which means he's also an enemy of the family. And probably an enemy of yours too."

"What?" Draco pulls back sharply and stares at Massi. He does his utmost to sound shocked by this. "You can't be fucking serious."

"I'm sorry," Massi says quickly. "A friend of ours informed us yesterday that Harry works for the Ministry."

"That bastard," Draco says. He slumps back against the display case that holds the Voldemort Hand of Glory, letting go of Massi as he does. "That fucking asshole. I can't believe he lied to me."

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Massi says.

"No," Draco says. "Thank you for telling me." He runs a hand through his hair, a frown on his face. He can feel Massi watching him. "Fuck," he says, blowing out the word in a long breath. "Do you think?" He stops and looks at Massi. "Do you think he is dating me just to try to bring down my family?"

"I don't know," Massi says. "But we have a plan for him. In a few days, you won't have to think about him anymore."

"Really?" Draco asks. "You would do that for me?"

"For you, Draco," Massi says, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Anything."

…

After another impromptu make out session, where they mostly keep their clothes on, Massi pulls out a key and unlocks the case that holds the Voldemort Hand of Glory. Draco's mind races as he works to put together the pieces of the plan as he can see it. There will be a dinner party on Wednesday. At some point, Draco suspects that someone will use either a spell or Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder to create a diversion and the Battaglias will use their powerful Hand of Glory to allow ten of them to see while everyone else is disorientated, allowing them to kill all of their rivals before anyone knows what is going on.

Part of him wants to ask Massi what he is getting the Hand out for, but he doesn't want to push his luck, so instead watches in silence while Massi places the Hand in a box and then puts that box in a bag.

They leave the way that they came and then apparate straight back to the Battaglia house. For the side along, Massi keeps his hand in Draco's back pocket. Harry is waiting for them in Massi's room, their luggage in a pile by the door.

"Where should I put this?" Harry asks as they walk in. He gesticulates at the bags. Massi shrugs.

"Keep them here. You can stay with me." Harry catches Draco's eye briefly and Draco gives him the smallest of nods.

"Great," Harry says. "Lunch?"

…

They spend the afternoon swimming, true to Massi's suggestion. They begin drinking at two and by the time they climb, still in bathing suits, into the hot tub at five pm, they are all feeling rather merry.

Massi sits between the two of them while they pass around a bottle of wine. It is very good wine - generally not wine one would assume to consume in a hot tub after an afternoon's worth of drinking, but it is the Battaglia family and they do what they want. Even still, Draco feels a twinge of guilt as he drinks a seven hundred euro bottle of wine straight from the bottle, holding onto the neck like it is an overly large beer.

"So for dinner," Massi says, handing the bottle over to Harry. "I thought we might take a portkey to a small town called Cortona."

"That seems extravagant," Draco says.

"Please, Draco," Massi says. "You're with Massimo Battaglia. Nothing is too extravagant." Draco catches Harry's eye across the hot tub and smirks at him. He can't quite imagine Harry saying something like that, but at the same time, he most certainly can. Harry raises his eyebrows briefly but smiles at Massi when Massi looks his way.

"Very well," Draco says. "What time are we leaving?" Massi looks at his watch for a long moment.

"Seven?"

"So what do we do until then?" Draco asks. "Should we play a game?"

"How about Truth or Dare?" Harry suggests. Both Massi and Draco gasp. "Oh, fuck. Is this another one of those situations where I was brought up with Muggles and say the wrong thing because wizards play it very differently?"

"Yes," Draco says. "How has no-one taught you that? Circe, Potter. You've been in our world for over fifteen years."

"You think Hermione was big on drinking games?" Harry shoots back.

"Point taken. Something else then?" But Massi is smiling. It is not a nice smile. It is the kind of smile that makes Draco very nervous. And with Truth or Dare, he has every right to feel nervous.

"No," Massi says. "I think Truth or Dare is perfect."

* * *

I apologize if my Italian is incorrect - I found these phrases on the internet. Please feel free to comment with any corrections.

Also yes, I am posting this a day early. I am traveling tomorrow (for my birthday!), so I wanted to make sure it was posted before then.


	25. Draco Versus The Proposal

Draco tries to convey _what the fuck have you done_ with his eyes, but either Harry doesn't get it, Harry is ignoring him, or Harry is pretending everything is fine. Massi snaps his fingers and a house elf appears next to the hot tub.

"Fetch my wand and some veritaserum," Massi tells the elf, who nods and disapparates with a loud crack.

"Veritaserum?" Harry asks. "Are you saying alcohol alone won't do?" Massi gives him a withering look.

"You really haven't played Wizard's Truth or Dare, have you?"

"No," Harry says.

"I'm which case, let me explain it to you. Truth involves a drop veritaserum, or when we were younger, the strongest truth potion we could get. And if you don't fulfill your dare, we get to jinx you."

"I see," Harry says. Draco catches his eye and gives him a look of _now do you see what you've done_ but Harry just lifts one shoulder slightly in a shrug.

Presently the elf comes back, clutching a tray that holds a small bottle and also Massi's wand. Massi nods his thanks and the elf departs.

"Who wants to go first?" he asks. Draco takes a deep breath.

"I will," he says.

…

"Truth or Dare?" Massi asks. Is it Harry's imagination, or does Massi look a tad upset that Draco volunteered to go first? He tries not to read too much into it.

"Dare," Draco says. He sounds confident in his choice and Harry suddenly sees Draco, Pansy and Greg in his mind's eye, playing Truth or Dare in the Slytherin Common room. It seems like a thing they probably did. The Draco in his imagination is younger, cockier and a hell of a lot more prickly.

Massi slides over next to Harry and asks, "What should we make him do?"

"Let's start him off easy," Harry suggests. He hadn't actually played Truth or Dare growing up - he had only seen it done in films. "How about a strip tease?" Massi nods.

"Do it," he says to Draco. "Strip for us. Make it sexy." He jerks his chin towards the side of the hot tub. Draco nods once and clambers out. Massi picks up his wand and flicks it towards the ceiling. Music that Harry doesn't recognize starts to play through the room. It sounds like something one might hear in a club.

While Harry and Massi watch, Draco begins to swing his hips in time with the music. He is about to shimmy out of his swimming trunks when a house elf appears beside him with a loud crack. Draco jumps in alarm and slips on the slick pool tiles. He lands hard on his back, his head slamming into the tiles.

Harry is out of the hot tub in a moment. He grabs Massi's wand where he has left it next to the veritaserum and kneels next to Draco. He waves Massi's wand over Draco and then frowns at the readout. Draco has a concussion, and his lower back is bruised but it is nothing that magic can't fix. Though Harry is not going to attempt anything using someone else's wand.

The elf, meanwhile, has been speaking to Massi in Italian, which Harry cannot understand. He glances over at the other man and sees that his brow is furrowed.

"What is it?" Harry asks before pointing Massi's wand at Draco and saying "Rennervate." Draco's eyes blink slowly open.

"What?" he asked blearily.

"You hit your head," Harry explains gently. "I'm going to heal you up properly once I get my wand." He turns to Massi. "I need to take him back to your room. He needs to lie down." Massi nods, distractedly and waves them away. Harry clambers to his feet and then helps Draco up. He drapes Draco's arm over his shoulder and says a quick drying spell. Then he leaves Massi to the house elf. It is only when they reach Massi's room that Harry realizes he still has the other man's wand.

He leads Draco over to the bed and lays him down against a pile of cushions, then he summons his own wand. He feels instantly much more at ease with it in his hand and quickly sets about healing all of Draco's injuries. He starts with the brain contusion, as that is likely to be the most uncomfortable. He smiles when Draco gives a small sigh.

"Thank you, Harry," he says.

"Anytime," Harry replies.

"I can't believe I fell over," Draco says with a small laugh. "How embarrassing."

"At least you still had your kit on." Draco makes a horrified face at the thought of falling over naked in front of the house elf. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Draco says. "You fixed me right up. Thank you." Harry leans down and presses a kiss to Draco's forehead. "Where's Massi by the way?" Harry shrugs

"Dunno," he says, sitting down next to Draco on the bed. "I left him with that house elf. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but Massi looked worried."

"So we're alone?"

"For now."

"I have to tell you something." Draco's words come out in a rush. "Massi took me to the family's collection of magical artifacts this morning."

"I figured as much," Harry says, nodding.

"But then something happened." Draco stops talking and gnaws on his lower lip. Harry reaches out and takes his hand.

"You can tell me," Harry says. His stomach turns over as he stares at Draco's nervous face.

"I fucked him," Draco says and Harry feels like the bottom has fallen out of his stomach. He fights to keep his face impassive even as his heart feels like it is being clenched in a vise. "I'm so sorry," Draco continues. "It was the only thing I could think to do." And so Draco relates the story of how Massi had confessed that Draco was an enemy of the family and how Draco had come up with a plan to say that the Malfoys wanted their families to work together. Then one thing had led to another and-

"-And I fucked him. I'm so sorry." Draco's voice is full of sorrow. Harry is still in a state of shock, but at least he can understand Draco's thought process. After all, Draco is a Ministry employee - the same way that Harry is - and he has to keep that secret at any cost - the same way that Harry has to.

Harry has seduced his fair share of people who had been suspicious of his Ministry status, just to convince them that he was the elusive celebrity bachelor that he claimed to be and not someone trying to wheedle information out of them. The same had gone for Oliver, even though that too had hurt at the time.

"It's ok," Harry says slowly. "Wait. He let _you_ fuck _him_?"

"It's a long story," Draco says shaking his head. "I think he might be in love with me." Harry can hardly blame Massi for that.

"Interesting."

"I swear, I was just trying to keep our cover intact and not die. Massi said I was an enemy of the family and I panicked."

"I understand," Harry says. "Does this mean _I_ am also an enemy of the family?"

"Uh, yes," Draco says. "And they know you're Ministry." Harry lifts his eyebrows briefly in surprise. He wonders who had leaked that information.

"You know what this means, right?" Harry says. Draco shakes his head. "We have to either kill or arrest all of them." Draco's mouth falls open, but he snaps it shut and nods.

"About that. The Hand of Glory," Draco says, urgency in his voice. "It can cover ten fucking people."

"It what?" Harry has never heard of a Hand of Glory that powerful before.

"Ten people. And they don't need to be touching it."

"Shit. How?"

"Uh, it was supposedly made out of He-who-must-not-be-named's hand," Draco says quickly. Harry leans back into the pillows in shock.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he says.

"No. I wish I were."

"How did you get Massi to tell you that? Was this after you fucked him?" Draco shakes his head.

"Massi seemed almost eager to tell someone about all the artifacts in their ridiculous room. He actually told me that before anything happened."

"Well, I'll be," Harry says. He reaches up a hand and scratches his head. "It seems he really is smitten with you. Maybe we can use that to our advantage." Now that the shock has worn off, Harry is thinking like an Unspeakable again. Massi is an asset, and they need to work him as such. And if that means that his boyfriend has to fuck him? So be it. It's the best in that they have. "If you're comfortable with that," Harry adds. He would never want to make Draco do something he didn't want to do. Draco takes a deep breath.

"Sure," he says. "But only if you're ok with it."

"Yes," Harry says. "But only if you are."

"Now we're going in circles."

"I know," Harry says. "I was making a joke." Draco narrows his eyes and glares at Harry before taking his hand back and instead wrapping an arm around Harry's waist and snuggling into him.

…

Massi joins them in the bedroom half an hour later, looking flustered. He is still in his bathing suit and when he sits down on the bed, a damp spot begins to spread.

"Sorry," Harry says. "I accidentally took your wand." He tosses it back to Massi, who fumbles to catch it.

"Thanks," Massi mumbles. He waves it over himself, drying his swimming trunks and the wet spot that had spread from beneath him. "Draco, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," Draco says. "Harry fixed me up." Massi nods absently. Draco extricates himself from Harry and crawls over the bed to Massi. "Are you ok? You seem," he pauses while he searches for the right word. "Distracted."

"Yes, I'm fine," Massi says.

"Where were you?" Draco asks.

"My father wanted to see me."

"Fathers," Draco says with a sigh. He sits down behind Massi and extends his legs out to either side of him. He wraps his arms around Massi's waist and Massi leans back into him. Draco glances at Harry and he thinks he sees a flash of of a frown on Harry's face, but then Harry gives him a quick thumbs up. "What did he say?" Draco says gently. Massi shakes his head.

"Um, nothing," he says, which Draco interprets as 'nothing that I can say in front of Harry, enemy of the family'. He turns his head and catches Harry's eye again before flicking his eyes towards to ensuite bathroom. Harry nods and holds up a finger, which Draco interprets to mean that he will excuse himself in a minute so as not to seem suspicious. Draco wraps his arms tighter around Massi and lets the other man relax more into his arms.

It feels strange to have Massi in his arms. He has gotten so used to Harry being the only person he cares about that it is strange to be comforting someone else. To be fair, Harry is still the only one he _cares_ about. He is only pretending with Massi, even if the comfort might seem real.

Harry excuses himself after a few minutes, claiming to need to use the facilities. He scrambles off of the bed and leaves Draco and Massi alone. As soon as the bathroom door closes behind Harry, Massi shifts in Draco's arms. He pulls his legs up on the bed and turns so that his shoulder is against Draco's chest. He clearly finds this not to his liking because a scowl crosses face before he pushes Draco backwards onto the bed and then shuffles around until he is straddling him. Then Massi leans down and puts his face next to Draco's ear.

"My father wanted to see me because he was upset that I had taken you to the Wunderkammer," Massi whispers. "But then I told him about your reason for coming here, and he's agreed to see you."

"That's great news," Draco says, because it is. It means he's less likely to be killed in his sleep. Which is a thing he now realizes could happen. How could he just let himself fall asleep the night before? In this den of vipers? He curses himself for being so stupid. "When?"

"After dinner," Massi says and then nibbles Draco's earlobe. Draco shivers involuntarily. He is very aware of the fact that they are both only wearing swimming trunks. Massi's skin is hot against his. He reaches up and pushes Massi off of him. Massi pouts.

"I haven't talked to Harry about our arrangement yet," Draco says. He sits up again and dangles his leg over the edge of the bed. Massi moves until he is sitting next to him. Then he rests his head on Draco's shoulder. From within the bathroom comes the sound of a flushing toilet and then Draco hears the faucet running. He nudges Massi's head off of his shoulder just as the door opens and Harry emerges.

"Harry," Massi says. "We need to talk." Harry lifts an eyebrow and regards Massi cooly.

"Do we?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Talk then." Harry crosses his arms. He doesn't take his eyes off of Massi. Draco feels Massi shift next to him. He's worried where this conversation is going, but he can't say anything because he needs Massi to think he's on his side.

"Draco and I have a request," Massi says.

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Massi stops talking and looks unsure from what Draco can see of him in profile.

"What Massi is trying to say," Draco says. "Is that he is wondering if we can all three of us have a relationship. As in, we all date each other."

"I thought you said you weren't interested in men," Harry says to Massi, a smile playing about his lips. Draco sees Massi shrug beside him.

"I enjoyed last night more than I thought I would," he says. "And I like you two. So is that a yes?" Harry looks at Draco who gives him the smallest of nods.

"Why not?" So that is settled.

…

Massi drops Draco off in front of his father's office after dinner and leaves him to his pitch. Draco had anticipated that Massi might stay and vouch for him but it's not the first bludger that's been knocked into his path, so Draco squares his shoulders, pats his wand pocket to make sure his wand his there and then knocks on the study door.

"Entra," calls a booming voice. Draco grips the doorknob harder than he means to, but pushes the door open with a self assured smile on his face. He walks into a room that is as opulent as the entrance hall, but in a more subdued manner. The large bay window at the end of the room is framed with deep red velvet curtains and a large mahogany desk sits in front of it. There is an imposing leather chair behind the desk and in it sits Signore Battaglia. Draco walks across the thick Persian rug and bobs his head quickly in deference when he reaches the desk.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," Signore Battaglia says. "Si, Massimo said you might stop by." His accent is much thicker than his son's. Draco almost wants to put the Reliquary's translation skills to use and converse in Italian, but he doesn't want to show his hand, so he continues in English.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me," he says. "I'm not sure how much Massi told you about my proposal?"

"Not much."

"Very well." And Draco launches into his sales pitch. He talks about the history of the Malfoy family, about the notoriety of their name and the pureness of their blood. He speaks bitterly about their coming out on the wrong side of the war and losing most of their fortune to reparations and lawyers fees. He talks about their political connections which helped keep them out of Azkaban after the war - not mentioning that their betrayal of Voldemort in the final battle, and Harry's testimony had played a large part of it too. He tells Signore Battaglia of his parents, shut in at Malfoy Manor, of zhow they are unable to leave due to Ministry restrictions, but how they had hatched a plot to send Draco abroad to make alliances even under the Ministry's noses.

"All of this led me to you, Signore Battaglia," he says. "To suggest an alliance. We would give your operations the Malfoy sheen - that is not to say that the Battaglia name is not already well respected - but think what we could do together! And of course, we would give you an immediate toehold in the UK. Current projections have the UK becoming an even larger financial powerhouse in the coming years, and with the break up of Gringotts, there has never been a better time to invest in small banks." He prattles on about the UK markets for a while longer, using many of the lines Seamus had when he had been trying to convince Draco to open an account at Ashe bank.

"This is a very interesting proposal," Signore Battaglia says. "Yes, I've heard through other sources that the break up of Gringotts has been good for various enterprises, what with the regulatory affairs people having to spread themselves so thinly to audit them all." Draco had not heard that and files away that information with interest while he nods enthusiastically.

"I have a contact at one of the banks, who can help us get set up," Draco says. It is technically true. Seamus would help them set up an account to be sure, but beyond that? Well, Draco doesn't expect anything to get that far anyway. He just needs them to be on his side for a few days so that he won't be summarily killed.

"A fascinating proposition to be sure," Signore Battaglia says. He leans back in his chair. "I will consider it. But I do have at least one concern."

"Would you be kind enough to share it with me?" Draco says. "So that I may allay it?"

"Harry Potter," Signore Battaglia says and Draco's heart sinks but he keeps his face impassive.

"What about him?"

"He's Ministry." Draco nods once.

"Massi mentioned."

"He did?"

"And he mentioned you had a plan for him? If you do, it would make my life easier." Draco says quickly, trying to throw Massi under the hippogriff as little as possible.

"We do," Signore Battaglia says. "I will not concern you with it, but suffice to say, he will be taken care of." Draco nods. "And it will look like an accident."

"Very good. That saves me a lot of trouble," Draco says.

"In the meantime, I will think on your proposal. I am certainly intrigued, but I will need to discuss with the rest of the family."

"Of course," Draco says. He bows as Signore Battaglia dismisses him and then walks out of the room, holding his head high and trying to seem as confident, if deferent, as possible.

…

McLaggen strolls into Flourish and Blotts on Tuesday morning with a swagger than only Cormac McLaggen could pull off. Pansy spots him as soon as he walks through the door and rolls her eyes. She does her best to ignore him, even though she knows that it is her that he has come to see.

"Parkinson," he says as he draws up to her.

"McLaggen," she acknowledges.

"Could I take you to lunch?" Although Pansy knows it must be something to do with the murders on Harry's street, her first reaction is to say no.

"Must you?" she asks.

"A friendly lunch," he says. "As friends."

"But we're not friends," she points out.

"You said we could try." Pansy twists her mouth in irritation.

"Fine," she says. "Yumenoki on the Fulham Road at 1pm." She had spotted this place across the street from the restaurant where she had encountered Harry and Draco on their "date" back in August and has been trying to come up with an excuse to eat there since.

Unfortunately, Greg is very wary of going out in the Muggle world, and she doesn't overly want to go alone. Not to mention, all of her other friends have been so busy with their boyfriends that they all seemed to find at the same time that she hasn't had many people to eat out with. (She is almost convinced it _is_ a conspiracy. Millie, Izzy _and_ Daphne all finding love at the same time? Ugh. Disgusting.)

"Great," McLaggen says. "See you there." He leaves, but not before making eyes at both Emma _and_ Nathalie on his way out the door. Creep. Pansy can't believe she briefly considered sleeping with him.

"What did McLaggen want?" Pansy jumps in surprise and turns to find Greg behind her.

"Oh," she says quickly. "We're going to lunch."

"Business?" Greg asks and Pansy is glad for a moment that she hasn't obliviated him again. She nods.

"I hope he's buying," Greg says with a wink.

"I'll make sure of it," Pansy says.

"That's my girl." They both freeze. "I mean, uh."

"Are you asking me out?" Pansy asks.

"Yes?"

"You're not sure?"

"Will you go out with me?" Greg asks, his voice more confident.

"Yeah, alright," Pansy says with a smirk. Greg's face breaks into a smile and he reaches out and pulls her into a hug. She gently extricates herself. "Not at work," she says. He nods and releases her, but not before giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

…

Pansy arrives at Yumenoki right at one, only to find that McLaggen arrived early. He has gotten them a table in the tiny restaurant. They are not the only people there, but they are in a secluded corner. Once they have ordered bento boxes - Salmon Teriyaki for Cormac and Nigiri and Sashimi for Pansy - Pansy casts a quick _muffliato_ around them.

"Right then," Pansy says. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"There's been another suspicious death."

"Another murder?"

"I don't want to call it a murder," McLaggen says. "Because we don't know yet if it was a murder, but it is certainly suspicious."

"Tell me everything you know," Pansy says, laying her hands flat on the table. McLaggen briefly lifts his eyebrows, but then seems to understand that this really is a working lunch and that she is here for that reason alone. He nods once.

"A body was found in a house a few streets over from Potter's house," he says. "Apparent suicide."

"If it's a suicide, why are you bringing it up?"

"Due to the location. It is the house next to where a previous death had occurred." He rummages around in his bag and pulls out a sheaf of papers. Pansy shakes her head.

"We're in Muggle London. Show me later."

"Why did you say to meet here then?" Cormac looks at her, confused. Pansy shrugs.

"I wanted to eat here," she says. "And you asked me to lunch. And Greg won't come here because it _is_ in Muggle London."

"Greg?"

"Goyle."

"What does he have to do with anything."

"He's my boyfriend," Pansy says. She relishes watching the emotions, first surprise and then disappointment, that flit across Cormac's face.

"I see," he says. "Does he know you're a-"

"-Hit wizard? Yes, he figured it out."

"And you're sure that he's the same Gregory Goyle from school? The Goyle I knew could barely add two and two." McLaggen is saved from a scathing reply only by the arrival of their food.

Pansy picks up her chopsticks and begins to eat. She starts by trying a bite of everything, first a sip of miso soup, then a nibble of salad. Then a piece of tuna sashimi, a piece of California role and what she guesses is a piece of salmon nigiri, but she could have sworn the waiter had mentioned sea trout? Either way, it is all delicious.

She looks up to see McLaggen staring at her.

"What?" she asks as soon she has finished her most recent bite.

"Nothing." She narrows her eyes and glares at him for a moment before turning her attention back to her food. It is so good that she might have to try talking Greg into 'braving the Muggle world' just to come here. She likes Greg, of course she does - she just agreed to go out with him, but his reticence when it comes to the Muggle world is baffling to her. She supposes she should go easier on him - he grew up in a much more austere pure blood family than she did - but it irks her nonetheless. Maybe things will change.

"So tell me more about the Simurgh Society," she says by way of conversation. "What do you know about them?"

"They're a group within the Ministry that's trying to bring about the reemergence of wizards as the top levels of power. They don't want wizarding society to be hidden away any longer. They say that we should be out in the open, asserting our dominance over the non-magical populations." Pansy frowns.

"That sounds a lot like some of the pro-Voldemort propaganda we used to hear," she says.

"I know," McLaggen says darkly. "It reminds me a lot of the Carrows."

"Oh right," Pansy says, smirking. "I forgot you had to repeat your seventh year."

"Shut up," McLaggen mutters, his face flushing. Pansy hides her amusement by eating a piece of California roll.

"How do you know all of this about the society?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Banks," McLaggen says. "As a secretary, he's heard a lot of conversations that others think he hasn't. Somehow people seem to forget that he's in the room."

"Dempsey's not in the society, is she?" Pansy asks, sudden alarm coursing through her.

"We don't think so. Banks hasn't heard anything from Dempsey's office at least. All the conversations he's stumbled across have been while he's delivering things or fetching tea." Pansy nods slowly. She takes a deep breath, willing her heart rate to return to normal.

"Do we have any confirmed members?"

"No. Even when they're conferring on Ministry premises, they wear hoods."

"And no one has followed one of them?" Pansy asks, incredulous. It is the first thing she would have done.

"Of course they have," McLaggen says. "But the Simurgh Society is smart. Upon parting ways, each person somehow finds a crowded room or elevator to duck into, unhooding so quickly that we haven't been able to determine who they are or whether they were there before."

"And no one has thought to record this?" Pansy asks. McLaggen gives her a withering look.

"Come on, Parkinson, you know-"

"-Yes, yes. I know. No unauthorized recordings on Ministry property," Pansy says quickly. She mentally kicks herself for even suggesting it.

"And anyway, they don't often communicate within Ministry walls at all. We're lucky Banks has overheard what he has." Pansy nods slowly and picks up another piece of sashimi. She dunks it quickly in soy sauce and then transfers it to her mouth.

"So we have no confirmed members?" she asks. McLaggen shakes his head.

"But we're pretty sure they have some higher ups."

"What makes you think that?"

"Look," McLaggen says. "Can we discuss this after lunch?" Pansy purses her lips.

"Why?" McLaggen lifts up his bag.

"I have things to show you," he says.

"Fine. We'll finish eating and go to the Cooler under Fortescue's."

"Really?" McLaggen asks, his eyes lighting up. Pansy twists her mouth to the side but nods.

"I think it's the safest place."

"Can we get ice cream?"

"What are you? Twelve?"

"There is no age limit on ice cream," McLaggen snaps.

"Fine," Pansy says. "You can have ice cream." He punches the air in triumph, still holding his chopsticks, and sends a piece of salmon hurtling past her face.


	26. Draco Versus the Luczkowski Dinner

"Holy shit," McLaggen says as they pass through the doorway that leads to the Cooler. "This is incredible." Pansy shrugs.

"We have to keep the Reliquary safe," she says.

"Until you sent him galavanting off to Europe."

"Quite." She walks down the stairs and sits down at the table in the middle of the room. McLaggen follows at a slower pace and sits down at the seat next to her. "So what were these things you wanted to show me?" she asks. McLaggen nods once and reaches into his bag. He pulls out a sheaf of papers and puts it down. Pansy hesitates for a moment and then reaches out to spread them across the table.

"This is a map," McLaggen says, pulling one piece of paper over in front of them. "On it I have noted where Potter's new house is and also where I think there have been suspicious deaths. I am treating some of these as suspicious simply due to their location, because it seems to be too much of a coincidence for them all to have been within this five street area." Pansy stares at the map. McLaggen has made marks along the streets in question, some of which are in different colors.

"What do the colors mean?" she asks.

"The red marks are mysterious deaths. The purple marks are mysterious deaths where the house has then been sold to a member of the wizarding community." He points to Harry's house and Pansy sees that it is indeed purple. "The blue marks are for houses that are on the market, at a below market price, but haven't been bought by anyone in the Muggle community despite the fact that any and all available properties seem to be snapped up as soon as they go on the market. It makes me think the agents are holding the properties until a particular buyer comes along."

"Have you talked to any agents about this?" Pansy asks. McLaggen shakes his head.

"Haven't had the time. I can't jolly well use work hours for this investigation."

"Then what are we doing now?" Pansy asks.

"It's my day off." Pansy turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. "What?" he asks, suddenly defensive.

"Nothing," she says quickly. "I'm surprised at your dedication."

"We took an oath to protect people, Parkinson. I intend to do that."

"This just seems above and beyond, and I hadn't expected that from you. I'm glad to be proven wrong." He pouts at her for a moment longer, his arms crossed against his chest. She sighs. "Did you want to try talking with these real estate agents today?" she asks. "I'm sure I can beg the rest of the day off at the bookstore."

"Really?" McLaggen asks. "You would be ok doing that?"

"The bookstore isn't my real job. This is."

"Of course." He nods once. "Before we go, I want to go through the rest of this." He gestures to the papers spread across the table. Pansy puts the map to the side and pulls over another paper and discovers it is a full file. She flips through the pages and her eyes flick across the words there. It is the report from the night Harry and Draco were taken in for questioning. Unbidden, the words from Draco's interview jump out at her.

 _McLaggen: Oh that's cute. Do you love him?_

 _Malfoy: Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I do._

Not for the first time, she wonders at the decision to send the pair of them into the field on an isolated mission. The timing seems... strange. Particularly as she looks more closely at the papers and an idea starts to form in her head. She pulls the map that Cormac showed her closer to her and stares at it.

McLaggen starts to say something, but she shushes him with a wave of her hand. She thinks she might be on to something. The distribution of the houses. It's not random. It can't be. The houses are so close together. And they're so close to Diagon Alley… But they need to confirm with the real estate agents whether or not they're holding properties for a certain buyer.

"Ok," she says finally. "I am going to go to my 'boss'," and here she uses air quotes. "And tell him that I'm under the weather. Then we're going to every single real estate agent on this map."

"I have actually put them helpfully on a list," McLaggen says. He searches through the pile of papers and pulls one out.

"Even better," Pansy says. "I'll be right back." She stands up abruptly and hurries out of the Cooler. She is a little concerned about leaving McLaggen in there alone, but how much damage could he really do?

She walks as fast as she can down Diagon Alley without turning heads and then walks straight back into Big Dick's office once she reaches Flourish and Blotts. He is partway through eating a ploughman's lunch and she walks in just as he is lifting a piece of cheese to his mouth. He puts it down sadly.

"What can I do for you, Miss Parkinson?" he asks. Pansy puts on a sad face.

"I'm so sorry, Richard," she says. She calls him Richard not out of respect, but because she knows that he hates the nickname that the rest of the employees have bestowed on him and she wants to butter him up. "I'm just not feeling well today."

"Oh? How unfortunate," Big Dick says.

"I think I need to take the rest of the day off." She clutches her midriff. "You know," she whispers conspiratorially. "Lady problems." Big Dick immediately goes red and starts to nod vigorously.

"Yes, yes," he says. "Do go home. And, uh, rest up." He looks awkwardly to the side, not wanting to look directly at her any more. Pansy mentally sighs. Men and menses. It works every time.

"Thank you," she says and leaves without another word. She doesn't see Greg on her walk back though to store, and for this she is glad. She doesn't have the time to explain anything to him. Not that she feels like she should anyway. This is Hit Wizard business and he's a civilian.

She finds McLaggen where she left him. He is halfway through a giant ice cream cone. She stands on the top of the stairs and stares at him, tapping her foot in irritation.

"What?" he asks. "You said we could have ice cream."

…

It does end up taking all of the rest of the afternoon, Pansy and McLaggen manage to make around to every real estate agent on the list. But what they learn doesn't make much sense. Pansy was hoping there would be some connection between the various agents but none of them had been dealing with the same people. They haven't even been dealing with the same mortgage brokers or banks.

But Pansy is not deterred. She has been taking copious notes all day and she spreads them all out on the table once they get back to the Cooler. McLaggen is still with her and when she tries to tell him to go home, he shakes his head.

"There is nothing more important than this right now," he insists.

"So you still can't get a date?" Pansy teases. He looks so sad that she almost feels bad. Until she remembers their legillimancy session and how he could not stop sexualizing her.

"We're going to have to look up all of these banks," Pansy says, looking down her list. McLaggen nods.

"Should we use the internet?" he asks.

"The what?"

"The internet. You know, the muggle invention that connects computers to each other?"

"Of course," Pansy blusters. "I'll let you take lead on that for now. In the meantime, I'm going to start putting together an evidence board."

"Who has access to this room?" McLaggen asks.

"Draco, Harry and I," Pansy says. "Obviously. And then I believe Dempsey and Granger. Why?"

"Just wondering about the security. I've wanted to do an evidence board myself, but I don't feel there is a secure enough area in the Ministry. I worry that someone from the Simurgh Society might walk in and see it."

"Our security is very tight," Pansy says. "It has to be. This is where the Reliquary trains."

"When are they coming back by the way?" McLaggen asks. Pansy sighs and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She twists her mouth to the side.

"I'm not sure," she says. "It's an open ended assignment."

"Interesting."

"What do you mean 'interesting'?" she asks.

"Don't you think that it's odd that the Reliquary - the one magical super computer who might be able to parse all of this information and detect a pattern - is out of the country for an indeterminate length of time, just as these murders seem to be escalating?"

"I don't know if I would say escalating," Pansy says slowly.

"Circe," McLaggen says. "Let's put up this evidence board and you'll see what I mean."

…

"What did my father say?" Massi whispers to Draco as Harry changes into his pajamas in the bathroom.

"He said he needs to confer with the family," Draco says. Massi nods.

"That is good," he says. "That is not a no." He smiles and reaches a hand out to cup Draco's face. Draco tilts his head to rest it in Massi's palm. "It means I will get to see more you you." He shuffles closer to Draco on the bed and then leans in and kisses him quickly on the lips before pulling away shyly.

"What did you and Harry get up to while I was gone?" Draco asks. Massi shrugs.

"We drank."

"What Massi is not telling you," Harry says, emerging from the bathroom. "Is that he made me drink grappa." Draco's eyes flick from Harry back to Massi who looks pleased with himself.

"How was it?" Draco asks.

"I'll just go with 'it's not my favorite'," Harry says.

"How very British of you."

…

Later that evening, once Massi is passed out in a post coital daze, Harry pulls out his wand and performs a quick, silent _Stupefy_ because he needs to talk to Draco without worrying that Massi is going to wake up. He beckons Draco over to him, and Draco clambers out of the bed and then walks around the other side where Harry is. He sits down next to Harry who immediately pulls him into a hug.

"I've missed this," Draco says softly. "I know it's only been a few days, but I've missed being near to you. Alone that is. Are we sure he's not going to wake up?"

"He's unconscious," Harry says, jerking his head to indicate Massi and holding up his wand. Draco nods.

"Good. Then I can do this." He reaches up and puts his hand on Harry's cheek before leaning in and gently kissing him. It is a lingering kiss and Draco tries to pour into it all of his feelings for Harry that he's had to keep suppressed while they've been staying with the Battaglias. Harry squeezes him close before pulling away.

"We have things we need to talk about," he says. Draco nods. He chews on his lip. "Tomorrow is the dinner with the Luczkowski family. Do you have any more details on the Battaglia's plan for them?"

"No," Draco says. "Unfortunately not. But Massi said something about making your death look like an accident. I don't know if that means they plan to poison you? Or if there's going to be an ambush and you'll be accidentally killed in the crossfire?"

"I love how you're talking so casually about my death," Harry says, smirking as Draco looks horrified.

"I'm not expecting them to _actually_ kill you," Draco says, eyes wide. Harry chuckles into his ear and then kisses his cheek.

"I know. I'm just teasing."

"My best guess is that there's going to be an ambush," Draco says. "Massi mentioned something about bringing my wand to dinner." Harry nods.

"That tracks with Massi needing to pick up the Hand of Glory."

"Did you end up having one?" Draco asks.

"Yes. There was one at the very bottom of my extendable coat pocket. It had a note from Hermione on it that said it was for emergencies only. As if I needed reminding."

"Well, I would say you not dying counts as an emergency." Draco leans in and kisses Harry again then presses their foreheads together. "You'd better not die," he whispers.

"I'll do my best." Draco frowns but nods. Then he snuggles down in the bed next to Harry and they talk tactics until they both fall asleep.

…

Wednesday dawns dark and cold as it is the midst of winter. But either way, Harry, Draco and Massi sleep late. Massi, technically, is still unconscious, but that is not the point. The point is that Harry and Draco actually get a good night's rest for the first time that week. They finally stir around ten in the morning when a beam of light makes its way through a gap in the curtains and hits Harry in the face.

He blinks slowly awake and for a moment he doesn't think about the fact that he and Draco are in danger in a wizarding mafioso's house. Instead he thinks about the fact that Draco is still asleep in his arms. And about how much he cares about him. He wonders if it is too early for him to say that he loves him. They have only been _actually_ dating for just over a month. Is it too early for him to feel the way he does?

But it has always been this way with them. He has always had a more intense relationship with Draco than with anyone else, be it their rivalry in school or their now budding relationship. Yes, there's the complication of Massi and their strange three-way (but is it really?) relationship, but hopefully by the end of the day, the Massi problem will be a thing of the past.

They just have to get through the day.

And then the reality of the situation crashes back over Harry. He's been aware of how much danger they have been in the entire time they have been at the Battaglia house, but he has been trying to downplay it so as not to alarm Draco. But there is a not so small chance that they will not get out of this unscathed.

All Harry wants is to keep Draco safe. He's not sure what he will do if anything happens to Draco. And so the knot of terror that has been a constant in Harry's stomach for the past few days reties itself and the bliss of having just woken up with Draco in his arms fades.

He takes a deep breath and tamps down the fear. He has a plan. He's pretty sure it's a good plan.

They can get through this, he tells himself.

They have to get through this.

He breathes in deeply again and holds the air in his lungs for three seconds before letting it out again. He wills his heart rate to slow back to a normal rate as he continues to take another pair of deep breaths. He concentrates on his breathing for a few minutes, until he feels some of the panic start to subside, and then he gently kisses Draco awake.

His heart melts as Draco blinks slowly at him before a small smile crosses the blond's face.

"Morning," Harry whispers. He reaches out and cups Draco's cheek in his palm.

"Hi," Draco says.

"Are you ready for today?" Harry asks. Draco blinks blearily at him for a moment before his eyes snap open, bright with sudden attention.

"I think so," he says.

"Do you remember everything we talked about last night?"

"Do I remember the plan? Of course I do," Draco says. "Do you think it's going to work?"

"I think it's the best shot we have," Harry says. Draco's mouth is a grim slash across his face. He stares at Harry for a long moment and then nods once. Then he buries his head in Harry's chest and Harry is not sure - and he doesn't ask - but he thinks he can feel a wetness that might be tears.

…

Pansy stares at the completed evidence board and her jaw drops open. She can't help it. Laid out this way, it's incredibly obvious that something is afoot.

It is now the next day. McLaggen had gone home around one in the morning and Pansy had fallen asleep on the sofa in the corner about half an hour later. She had woken, dazed and confused as to where she was until she had seen the half complete board. She'd apparated straight home, showered and changed, and had been in Dempsey's office by the time the General had gotten into work.

"I need McLaggen on the Reliquary team," she had said once Dempsey had ushered her in.

"You do?" Dempsey had looked surprised over the reading glasses that Pansy felt she wore more out of affectation than of need.

"Yes." On this, Pansy had been firm.

"Are you sure that's wise? You two have history."

"Yes. We have put the past behind us, and he's one of the best Hit Wizards we have."

"Why now? Malfoy and Potter are still out in the field."

"That's why I think now is the perfect time," Pansy had argued. "I'll have time to bring him up to speed before Potter and Malfoy return."

"If you're sure," the General had said and Pansy had nodded. And that had been that.

Now it's mid afternoon and she and McLaggen are back at the Cooler, staring at their completed evidence board.

"Wow," she says. She puts a hand up to her forehead, pushing back the wisps of hair that have fallen in front of her eyes.

"If we'd had the Reliquary here," McLaggen says. "I don't think it would have taken this long."

"Do you think," Pansy starts to say, but then she stops herself. Surely, that would be too far fetched.

"Do I think what?" McLaggen asks but Pansy shakes her head. "Go on, it's a conspiracy. There are no strange questions."

"That's true, but this seems too far fetched even for this."

"Tell me anyway," McLaggen says. Pansy sighs. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Do you think someone planned for the Reliquary to be out of the country right now?" McLaggen raises his eyebrows.

"I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "If they did, that might imply that they know who it is."

"Fuck. That's seriously high level clearance." Pansy walks over to the sofa in the corner and sits down heavily on it. McLaggen waits a beat and then follows her. He sits on one of the chairs, a respectable distance away. She looks at him.

"They might not know who," McLaggen says after a moment. "Were you there when they got the assignment?" Pansy shakes her head.

"No, but Granger filled me in. There was chatter about an object in Zermatt that was planning to be stolen. No information on what the object was, but rumor had it, the Battaglia family were going to be behind the robbery."

"Shit," McLaggen breathes. "The Battaglias?"

"I know."

"And they sent them in alone?"

"Granger wanted them to be very low profile." McLaggen brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on his thumbnail for a moment.

"So it _could_ have been a legitimate ask," he says finally.

"Yes."

"But it's so vague and open ended that it could have been just to get Draco out of the country."

"Also yes." McLaggen slumps back in his chair.

"Fuck."

"Indeed," Pansy says. She stares at him. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know." McLaggen sounds tired. "I was hoping you might have some sort of idea."

"I feel like I'm in over my head."

" _You_ feel like you're in over your head? You're the highest ranking Ministry member on our task force."

"Who else is on this task force?" Pansy asks. In all the time they've spent together in the past two days, the subject has yet to come up. But if the Simurgh Society has someone in their midst with the power to send the Reliquary away for an indeterminate amount of time, she hopes the group trying to stop them might have some similar brass. Though Cormac's words have her thinking otherwise. She braces herself.

"Right now," McLaggen says slowly. "Mortimer Banks. Uh, and Algernon Braithwaite." She's heard of Algernon in passing. He is another Unspeakable. She waits for McLaggen to list the other members and when he doesn't add any more after a moment she looks at him in shock. It is worse than she might have thought.

"Seriously? It's the three of you?"

"There _were_ four of us," McLaggen says, his eyes flashing in irritation. "But then Oliver Wood killed himself." Pansy can't help it. She flinches. She hasn't had any Wood nightmares recently, but the memories are still sharp in her mind.

"I don't know why he did that," Pansy says. "I think about it all the time. Particularly now that I know he wasn't acting alone. Didn't he trust you to help him?"

"There are three of us, Parkinson," McLaggen says. "And none of us would have had the influence or authority to get him out of trouble. There are, presumably, some very powerful people in the Society. Who knows what they would have done to him to get information from him."

"But-" Pansy starts to say, but McLaggen cuts her off.

"-He did what he felt he needed to do to keep the Reliquary safe and out of the Society's clutches."

"But we don't even know they were after it," Pansy protests. "From what you've told me, you don't really know _anything_."

"We know more than I've let on," McLaggen says. Pansy slumps back on the couch cushions and crosses her arms. "What?" McLaggen throws his hands up in the air. "I'm still figuring out if we can trust you."

"Circe, Cormac. Do you want my help or not? May I remind you, I just brought you onto the most high profile task force in the DMLEHS."

"Yes, and I'm grateful for that but-"

"-Look, do you want me to be a part of the Coalition Undermining Nefarious Traitors? If so, I'll join. But if I do join, we are changing the name because we are not twelve."

"Ok, it's a deal," McLaggen says. "Will you swear an Unbreakable vow?"

"Do you really need me to?" Pansy asks, sitting forward and resting her elbows on her knees.

"It does help with the whole trust thing."

"Fine. But I'm setting the terms."

…

The preparations for the dinner party feel like the preparation for any dinner party that Draco's parents had thrown. There's a flurry of activity in the dining room, with house elves dusting, sweeping, laying tables, arranging flowers, and laying out place cards. Massi's mother, whom Draco has only met in passing, walks from table to table and yells at any passing person in rapid Italian. She is so much like his mother in that way, it is uncanny.

In order to stay out of the way, Massi takes Harry and Draco to lunch. He has not let Harry and Draco alone for a moment since waking up and Draco is glad that they had talked for a while before waking him. Not that Draco feels confident in their plan per se, but it is fresh in his mind at the very least.

As they walk back from lunch, Massi takes Draco's hand. Draco finds it strange that Massi touches him all the time. It is nice to have the attention, sure, but Massi seems to go out of his way to be physically affectionate with Draco, especially when Harry is watching. Draco assumes it is to make Harry jealous, and he is glad that Harry is keeping his emotions in check. He has clearly learned a lot since Hogwarts.

Massi chats about inane nothings while they get changed for dinner. It is a formal function, so Draco is wearing the tuxedo he wore to the opening night of La Scala. He worries for a moment as he puts it on that the pensieve phials are still in his pocket, but Harry has had the foresight to move them.

"This will be fun," Massi says, straightening Draco's bowtie. "It will be a very exciting evening." Draco blinks for a moment, overcome with a feeling of deja vu, until he realizes this is a mirror of Harry convincing him everything would be fine before the opening night of La Scala. And yet, here they are.

He tries to stay positive. They have a plan. They do. And if it all goes well, or rather doesn't all go tits up, they will have helped bring down one of the most notorious crime families in the European wizarding community. He concentrates on that light at the end of the tunnel as he fixes a smile to his face.

It doesn't help that he knows that the way that they will get out of this is by arresting or killing Massi and all of his family. He has grown oddly attached to Massi in the few days they have been at the Battaglia house. More than once he has himself thinking fondly about fucking Massi in the Battaglia Wunderkammer, of how his body had shuddered around Draco as he came, of the planes of his back, the curves of his ass. But then he shakes himself mentally and reminds himself that Massi is the enemy.

"I'm looking forward to it," he tells Massi. He keeps his gaze on Massi's face, resisting the urge to flick his eyes in Harry's direction.

"Perfetto," Massi says. He lets go of Draco's bowtie, satisfied at last that it looks right. Draco turns to Harry and holds out his hand. Harry smiles and takes it.

"Shall we?" he asks, ignoring Massi.

"Let's."

"Yes," Massi says quickly. "Let's go." He grabs Draco's other hand and tugs them out the door. Draco squeezes Harry's hand lightly and feels Harry squeeze his back in return. It helps to dissipate some the feeling of dread that has settled over Draco. But as they follow Massi down the stairs, Draco can't help but think the worst. He wants nothing more than to let go of Massi's hand and to push Harry into the nearest wall and kiss him senseless, just in case it's the last time he can do that. But he can't.

And so they follow Massi down the stairs and out into the party.

…

During the cocktail hour before dinner, Harry and Draco stick close together. They mingle with the guests and make polite small talk, all the while sipping on non-alcoholic beverages, disguised as gin and tonics. They pretend to get as tipsy as Massi who flits around the room but always seems to find his way back to them. He hangs on Draco's arm and laughs. He straightens Draco's bowtie. He insists on sitting next to Draco at dinner and sneaks his hand into Draco's lap during the antipasto course.

Draco is so on edge that the smallest brush of Massi's hand over his lap gets him half hard. Draco has heard of fear boners before, but even in the year of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named living in their house, he had never experienced one. He wonders what has changed.

Massi catches his eye and flicks his gaze towards one of the doors out of the dining room, a sly smile on his face. Draco shakes his head. There is no way that he is leaving Harry alone right now. Massi looks put out, but he shrugs as if to say it's Draco's loss. Draco wonders if this had been his plan to get Draco out of harm's way and if Draco has just ruined it. He's not sure if he should be touched or if he's reading too much into things.

Then Signore Battaglia stands and Massi snaps his attention to his father. Signore Battaglia raises his glass in a toast. Everyone scrabbles for a moment to pick up their own glassware before then raising it to mirror him. He opens his mouth to speak. And the room goes black.

It's happening. The ambush.

And it's happening so fast that Draco doesn't have the time to think about anything that's going on. All he does is react. He ducks under the table and crawls towards where Harry was sitting. A moment later he feels Harry, or at least he who presumes is Harry - he can't see after all, crawl up next to him and throw a cloth over him.

"Give me your wand," Harry growls. It is definitely Harry. Which means that the cloth Draco is under is the invisibility cloak. Draco reaches into his wand pocket, pulls out his wand and thrusts it into Harry's hand.

"Here."

"Thanks." They crawl forward in the pitch black until Harry puts a hand out to stop Draco. Draco sits and pulls his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible. He feels Harry stand and then a moment later crouch back down. "I love you," Harry says into his ear.

"What?"

"In case something happens. I want you to know. I love you."

"I-" Harry kisses him roughly and then stands. "I love you too," Draco says to Harry's knees but he's not sure Harry hears him.

He thinks he hears Massi yell his name in a terrified voice, but he can't be sure. There is a lot of screaming.

There are flashes of light everywhere, most of them green, some of them red. Draco looks up to see Harry dual wielding their wands, shooting off spell after spell in such quick succession that it's an almost unending flash of red. Of course, Harry can see where his spells are landing, but to Draco, it looks like they just disappear into the darkness.

Draco concentrates on his breathing because it is all he can do. He feels so naked without his wand, but he knows that he wouldn't be nearly as effective as Harry in this situation. At least no one can see him. And, of course, no one can see Harry.

Slowly the room quietens. The flashes of light decrease in number until it is only red flashes that Draco can see. He is stiff from sitting in such a tight ball, but he dares not move until Harry tells him it's safe. The room begins to lighten as the Instant Darkness powder wears off. Draco looks up and sees a grim expression on Harry's face. He is still firing stunning spells around the room even though Draco can't hear any other movement.

Draco looks out into the room. It looks like a massacre. There are bodies strewn everywhere. Some people are on the floor, others are still in their seats. No one is moving. And still Harry fires stunning spells. He seems to be firing them off methodically now, hitting every person in the room and Draco finally understands that Harry is making sure that everyone is actually unconscious (or dead, his mind helpfully supplies).

Finally Harry stops. He sinks down on his knees next to Draco. His face is pale and he looks like he's just run five miles. He is panting hard but when Draco reaches out to rest a steadying hand on his chest, he gives Draco a wan smile.

"That was incredible," Draco says. Harry sinks fully to the floor, splaying his legs out to the side as he eases onto his butt.

"Thank you," he says.

"Are you okay?" Draco asks. Harry takes a deep, steadying breath and then nods. "You're not hurt at all?"

"No," Harry says. "With the cloak and all the confusion, no one knew where I was."

"You were so fast," Draco says. "I didn't know wizards could cast that fast." Harry shrugs.

"I've had a lot of practice." Draco shuffles over next to Harry and Harry leans his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco wraps an arm around him and they sit like that, still under the cloak, for the better part of a minute.

"What now?" Draco says.

"Now," Harry says, lifting his head up. "We call the police."

* * *

A/N: I periodically re-read what I've written to make sure I haven't forgotten anything, and I realized I had forgotten that Shacklebolt was not my Minister for Magic. I have gone back and corrected this.


	27. Draco Versus the Aftermath

"We should probably disarm them," Draco says after they have been sitting there for a minute.

"They're unconscious," Harry points out.

"It's still good practice," Draco says. "What if someone comes round?"

"They won't."

"I don't want to take that chance," Draco says. He takes a deep breath and then scrambles to his feet. "Can I have my wand back?" Harry nods absently and holds out one of his hands.

"That's your wand."

"Oh, is it?" Harry holds out the other.

"Doesn't it feel different to you?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"I used your wand for several months after we escaped your house during the war," Harry says. "I guess I got used to the feeling of it."

"I had no idea," Draco says. He looks down at his wand in wonder. "Why?"

"Mine had broken." Harry doesn't elaborate. Draco starts to walk towards the nearest body. "Your wand felt the friendliest."

"What's that?" Draco turns back to Harry.

"Of the wands we had at the time. Yours felt the friendliest."

"Huh," Draco says. "I wonder if our wands knew more than we did."

He turns back to the nearest body and freezes when he sees that it is Massi. He is sprawled on his back on the floor and his legs are bent at an awkward angle as though he had been running when he had been stunned. Presumably stunned. Draco almost doesn't want to check if he's alive, just in case he isn't. But he forces himself to kneel down next to Massi. He puts two fingers on Massi's neck and feels for a pulse.

His breath is in his throat and a wave of terror washes through him when he can't feel anything. Then he realizes his fingers are in the wrong place and he shifts them. He finds it - Massi's pulse. It is as slow and steady as if he were just sleeping. Draco breathes a sigh of relief and then frowns at himself.

Why should he care about Massi? His family had just tried to kill them.

He fumbles in Massi's jacket pocket, looking for his wand. Instead he finds a small bottle. He pulls it out and looks at it. The writing on it is in Italian, but as he stares at it, the Reliquary translates.

It's a love potion. But it's not just any love potion. It's a love potion that works through the touch of the person drinking it.

Suddenly the past few days jump into startling clarity for Draco. Massi's insistence on touching him all the time. Massi's insistence that no one fuck him during their threesomes. Massi then wanting Draco to fuck him when they were alone. No wonder Draco had started to feel affection for him. Massi has been slowly intoxicating him.

"You fucking asshole," Draco says to the unconscious figure of Massi. He stands up again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry look up. "You. Absolute. Fucking. Asshole," Draco says again, embellishing each word with a kick to Massi's side. He thinks he feels one of Massi's ribs break and is overcome with a mix of satisfaction and compunction. He blames the potion for his feelings of guilt.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks. He has leapt up from his spot on the floor and now drags Draco away from Massi before he can hurt the other man any more.

"Kicking him," Draco says. "I thought that was obvious."

"Yes, but why?" Draco thrusts the love potion into Harry's hands.

"This asshole has been using a love potion on me." Draco points to the instructions and translates them for Harry. "So, really, probably on both of us to an extent."

"But mostly you," Harry says. "I couldn't help but notice that he had his hands on you at every opportunity he could." As Harry says this, he reaches out an arm wraps it around Draco's waist, pulling him close.

"Mm," Draco says. "Were you jealous?" He turns until he is facing Harry. Harry keeps his arm wrapped around him.

"Incredibly."

"I'm sorry," Draco says.

"Don't be." Harry's tone is fierce. He wraps his other arm around Draco's waist, encircling him all the way. Draco leans into Harry and presses their foreheads together. "It's not your fault," Harry says.

"I'm still sorry."

"He used you."

"And we used him" Draco says.

"Because his family are criminals and we were trying to bring them to justice."

"Have you called the Polizia Magica by the way?" Draco asks. He hasn't seen a patronus go out, but he's not one hundred percent sure what Harry's patronus looks like. He thinks it is big, because he remembers being knocked down by something in his third year when he and Greg (and Vince, RIP) had tried to scare Harry by (stupidly) dressing up as dementors at a Quidditch game.

"No," Harry says. "I'll do it now." He lets go of Draco and waves his wand. An entire bloody stag bursts forth and Draco is now sure he has never seen this before. Surely that hadn't been Harry's patronus when he was thirteen? Surely Harry hadn't been able to produce a full patronus when he was thirteen? Though, with everything Draco knows about Harry, it probably had been.

Harry talks to it quickly and then dispatches the patronus. Then he lowers his wand and his shoulders sag. Draco reaches out and pulls Harry back into his arms and Harry falls into them gratefully, resting his head on Draco's shoulder.

"I love you too by the way," Draco says as he strokes Harry's hair. Harry pulls his head back to look at Draco.

"What?"

"You said-"

"-I know."

"And I said I love you too - in fact, I said it at the time, but I don't think you heard me over the yelling."

"I didn't," Harry says quietly.

"So I'm saying it again. I love you too." A slow smile spreads across Harry's face. He leans his head forward and presses their foreheads together.

They stay that way until the Polizia Magica arrive.

…

"What the hell do you mean 'Cormac McLaggen is on our team now'?" It is Thursday morning and Hermione Granger is pacing behind her desk. Pansy watches her impassively. Granger is one of the few people their age in the Ministry who outranks Pansy and it is something that irks her. She can't help but think that if she'd made Lieutenant Colonel by now that she would be in charge of the Reliquary team, not Granger. But she would have needed to be a Major for more than a year before she could have been promoted and she's still got three months to go before that.

"I mean Cormac McLaggen is on our team now," Pansy says. "I've already cleared it with Dempsey."

"But why didn't you clear it with _me first_?" Granger asks, rounding on Pansy with her hands on her hips.

"Because I thought you would have said no," Pansy fires back.

"I absolutely would have said no," Granger snaps.

"Then I'm glad I didn't ask," Pansy says. Granger raises her eyebrows in surprise. It is clear no one has dared challenge her authority before. Pansy squares her shoulders and keeps her face impassive.

"I beg your pardon?" Granger asks with barely controlled rage.

"Look," Pansy says. "McLaggen's one of the best Hit Wizards we have and we need him on our team."

"There is a clear chain of command, Parkinson."

"Fine, demote me," Pansy shoots back. "I don't care. You know what I _do_ care about? Keeping Draco safe." Of course, she does care, a lot, but she doesn't think Granger will call her on it.

"As do I."

"Then why are you letting your dislike for McLaggen cloud your judgement?"

"I don't think we need him," Granger says. "I think the team is great as is. And that includes you." She adds the last part in an aggrieved tone. Pansy twists her mouth to the side in irritation. She doesn't need Granger's praise to know that she is good at her job.

"Have you heard of the Simurgh Society?" Pansy asks quietly. Confusion clouds Granger's face. "There you go then. That is why we need McLaggen."

"What do you mean?" Granger asks. Pansy shakes her head.

"Not here."

"Parkinson," Granger says warningly.

"I don't know who might overhear."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Pansy narrows her eyes and stares at Granger without saying anything for a long moment. She hopes this conveys that this is serious enough that she's a) not going to answer Granger's question because it's stupid and b) that she can't talk about it at all in this room. When Granger doesn't say anything for a long moment, Pansy sighs, refrains from rolling her eyes, and crosses her arms. She reaches into an inner pocket and pulls out some parchment and a quill. She writes down "the Cooler" and slides it across the desk to Granger.

"What?"

"Meet me there," Pansy says. Then she turns on her heels and leaves the office. She doesn't turn back to look, but she's sure she's left Granger speechless as she doesn't hear her call anything after her as she hurries away down the corridor.

…

"Where the hell do you get off, walking into my office and asking me - me! - to meet you somewhere else?" Granger fumes as she charges down the stairs and into the Cooler. She stops short when she sees that both Pansy and McLaggen are there. They are sitting at the table in front of their evidence board, their hands clasped in front of themselves on the table.

"Thank you for joining us," Pansy says.

"What is this?" Granger asks.

"This," Pansy says. "Is everything McLaggen has amassed about the Simurgh Society."

"And who are they?"

"I'm glad you asked," McLaggen says, cutting in. "The Simurgh Society are a secret organization within the Ministry who are trying to undermine Tusneem's pro-Muggle agenda." Granger sighs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. McLaggen indicates the chair across the table from them and Granger twists her mouth in irritation but sits.

"And how is it you know about them?" she asks once she is settled.

Pansy leans back in her chair as McLaggen fills Hermione in on everything he has told Pansy. Having McLaggen explain everything is half the reason that Pansy wanted to bring Granger back here. That, and she really didn't want anyone to overhear. She is pretty confident that no one would be eavesdropping on Granger's office, but if it is a group inside the Ministry, Pansy is taking no chances.

When McLaggen finally finishes speaking, Granger stares at them. Pansy can tell that she's thinking by the small frown lines between her eyebrows.

"So let me get this straight," Granger says after a long moment. "Mortimer Banks overheard someone talking about this and now the three of you, and at some point _Oliver Wood_ , have taken it upon yourselves to stop them?"

"That's the long and short of it," McLaggen says. Granger presses her lips into a line.

"And you believe them?" she asks Pansy.

"Let me walk you through this board," Pansy says. She stands up and pulls the evidence board forward. About twenty seconds into her explanation, Granger's hand flies to her mouth.

"Oh my god," she says, her eyes wide. "I think I know what they're planning."

"You can see it too?" Pansy indicates the area on the map. Granger nods slowly.

"So you believe us?" McLaggen asks.

"I am as shocked as anyone, but yes."

"Will you join us?" At this question, Granger pauses and chews on her lower lip.

"And there are four of you?" she asks.

'Yes," Pansy says with a heavy sigh. Granger nods sharply.

"Right," she says. "With Harry and Draco that will make seven."

"Really?" McLaggen asks.

"Yes," Grangers says with another sharp nod. "This is officially a Reliquary matter." McLaggen pumps his fist in excitement. "But first, I need you to tell me the whole plan behind Agent Wood stealing it. I mean, what on _earth_ were you thinking?"

"Uh," McLaggen says. He looks nervously at Pansy who shakes her head.

"This is all on you," she says. McLaggen nods. He must have known this was coming, because when he starts to talk, it sounds rather rehearsed.

"Banks was walking back from a meeting one day back in July when he heard someone mention the Reliquary. His ears perked up, because as Dempsey's secretary, it was a project he had heard of before. He slowed as the voices he heard seemed strained. He said he went as far as to dawdle, tying his shoes, in order to learn as much as he can. He heard someone say that they needed to destroy the Reliquary as it could ruin them, but the person they were with said it would be better if they could control it. If the Simurgh Society had access to whomever the Reliquary ended up being, they could control what the people outside of the Society knew.

"We decided it would be better if one of us were the Reliquary so that we could prevent it from falling into the Simurgh Society's hands."

"So Oliver Wood stole it," Granger says. McLaggen nods.

"So Oliver Wood stole it," McLaggen agrees. "He was supposed to send it to Braithwaite, but he sent to to Malfoy instead. The best I can guess is that he couldn't get to the portkey we had planted in the facility where the Reliquary had been housed and so improvised."

"Why Draco though?" Granger asks. "They hadn't been together in years." McLaggen shrugs.

"All I can guess is that they were the first safe coordinates he thought of," he says. "We'll never know."

"Mm," Granger muses. It is clear to Pansy that she has more questions but she wants to move the conversation along. She puts her hands flat on the table in front of herself and pushes herself up to standing. "Right," she says. She looks around the room and spots what she is looking for. She walks over to the supplies cabinet and pulls out parchment and a quill before sitting back down opposite them.

"What are your next steps?" Granger asks. She stares expectantly at McLaggen.

"The first step," Pansy says. "Is to change the name of our group." Granger frowns at her. "Tell her, McLaggen." She nudges him with her elbow and watches as his face turns scarlet.

"Uh, the working name has been the Coalition Undermining Nefarious Traitors," he mutters. Granger looks at Pansy and Pansy rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure you thought it was hilarious," Granger says with a sigh.

"Actually," Pansy says, unable to keep the smugness out of her voice. "He didn't figure out the acronym until I pointed it out."

"Circe, McLaggen," Granger says. She turns to Pansy. "And you said he's one of the best?"

…

"Would you mind," Harry says to Draco over breakfast. "If we took our time getting home?"

"Why would I mind?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"I figured you wanted to get home to see people."

"Not if you're not there." Harry makes a face.

"If I had known you'd be this sappy after I told you I loved you, I would never have done it." Draco kicks Harry lightly under the table and smirks at him over his coffee cup.

"Oh you love it," Draco says. Harry grins at him.

They had gotten back to their hotel at around one in the morning after they had supervised as the Polizia Magica had taken both the Luczkowski and Battaglia families into custody. They had paused just long enough to peel off their clothes before they had fallen into bed and slept until the maid had knocked on the door to inquire about cleaning the room. Now they are enjoying a leisurely continental breakfast at the hotel restaurant and each other's company.

"What did you have in mind for today then?" Draco asks. He catches Harry midway through a bite of toast and waits while Harry chews. He notes that in spite of an almost full night's rest, Harry still has dark circles under his eyes. But then, after all the magic he performed yesterday, Draco is hardly surprised.

"Christmas shopping?" Harry suggests once he's finished his bite.

"Really?"

"Only if you want to," Harry mutters. He looks up as Draco covers his hand in his.

"Oh, I would _love_ to."

…

"Do you think Pansy would like this?" Draco asks, holding up a Prada bag.

"Have you ever seen Pansy carry a handbag?"

"Not in a while," Draco admits. "But ten years ago she would have loved it." He appears to come to a decision. "I'm getting it for her." Harry wisely does not mention that Draco has already gotten Pansy several other things. Draco, it seems, likes to be very generous at Christmas.

"I'm sure she'll love it," Harry says. He is holding approximately twenty bags at this point in the day but Draco doesn't seem to be tiring at all.

"Blast," he says. "I can't remember what shoe size Greg wears. I want to get him some of these loafers."

"You could ask him," Harry suggests.

"How? We're still on a communications embargo, presumably." They are not, technically, but Harry hasn't reached out to the Ministry to re-activate their watches yet. He wants to have this time with Draco alone.

"Kreacher?"

"Will Kreacher come if you call him from this far away?" Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

"We can see." They badger the helpful sales clerk until she lets them share a changing room and once the door is closed, Harry pulls out his wand. First he adds a secondary lock to the door and then he calls the house elf.

It takes about a minute, during which time they stand there feeling stupid, but then Kreacher appears with a muffled pop. Draco looks happy enough to hug him, but refrains because it's Kreacher and the elf is grumpy even on the best of days. Kreacher, as it turns out, has Greg's sizes memorized, and even some of Pansy's.

"The lovely Ms. Parkinson has stayed over quite a few nights now," Kreacher informs them. Harry catches Draco's eye, raises his eyebrows and smiles. "I have assisted in washing her clothes." He lists off their sizes and Draco scribbles them onto a piece of parchment that Harry has pulled out of his pocket. Kreacher then offers to take the bags that Harry is carrying home.

"Really? You can do that?" Harry asks. He is still a little fuzzy on all of the powers of a house elf, no matter how many times Hermione has tried to tell him.

"Of course," Kreachers says. "Anything for Master Draco." He scoops up the bags, even though they dwarf his tiny frame. "Can I ask when you might be back?" All Harry can see of him is two ear tips poking out from behind a Fendi bag.

"We'll be back on Saturday," Harry says. "In the evening."

"Very good, Master Harry." And then Kreacher disappears, taking all of their shopping bags with him.

"Perfect," Draco says. "Let's go get Greg some shoes!"

…

"McLaggen," Granger says. "You're going to need a cover story as to why you're in Diagon Alley all the time."

"He can't work at Flourish and Blotts," Pansy says quickly. She has enough to put up with in the form of Luca and Joe as is. She refuses to have to deal with McLaggen and his damnable swagger and irritatingly good looks as well. "It would look too suspicious if there were two of us there."

"Don't you mean three of you?" Granger asks.

"I meant Hit Wizards. Greg is suspicious enough as is."

"Very well," Granger says. "What if you worked at Florean Fortescue's?"

"Scooping ice cream?" McLaggen asks.

"Yes, alongside Harry when he's back."

"When are they scheduled to come back?" Pansy asks. It's been over a month now and she's tired of working at Flourish and Blott's for no reason other than keeping up her cover. She hasn't arrested anyone, or stunned them in too long and her wand hand is itchy. This isn't strictly true as she did briefly stun Luca the week before when he tried to convince her to buy the debut album of his and Joe's band, Joca! but Pansy doesn't count this.

"Any day now," Granger said. "I received word from the Polizia Magica that they had arrested the entirety of the Battaglia family on Wednesday night, along with several prominent members of the Luczowski family in one of the largest arrests in their history. Tusneem is working with President Cattaneo to keep Draco and Harry's names out of the press, while still giving credit to the British Ministry for their arrests."

"Why aren't they back yet?" McLaggen asks. "That was two days ago."

"They need to stay under the radar," Granger explains. "They've been using Muggle transportation to get around."

"Muggle transport doesn't take _that_ long."

"And from what I heard, Wednesday night was a bit of a bloodbath."

" _What_?" Pansy asks. Her hand flies to her mouth.

"Harry and Draco are fine," Granger says quickly. "But it certainly appears there was an ambush of sorts. I'll be interested to hear what happened when they get back."

"I think we all will," Pansy says.

…

Harry and Draco spend Friday on a train from Milan to Paris. Though Harry had suggested that they apparate to France, Draco decided that he quite liked the quiet solitude one could find on a train and had insisted they finish their journey like Muggles. And so they sit and watch the countryside pass by while eating cheese and charcuterie and sharing a bottle of wine.

They spend the evening in Paris. Draco finds them a charming French bistro called Josephine Chez Dumonet and shows off the French skills that Harry didn't know he had as he chats animatedly with the maître d'. Harry finds the menu being taken out of his hands and he looks curiously at Draco who waves away his concern.

"Trust me," he says. So Harry does. Instead of worrying about the menu, he looks around the restaurant. It is everything he would imagine a French bistro would be. There are tables covered in white tablecloths, richly upholstered booths and a wooden bar on which sit multiple bottles of wine.

Draco sits opposite him. He is wearing a red sweater over a collared shirt and has a tweed jacket over the top. He looks very English. His hair is freshly washed and lightly tousled. It looks incredibly soft and Harry wants nothing more than to run his hands through it. Instead he contents himself with reaching across the table and holding Draco's hand. His chest feels like it's filled with warmth as he watches a smile spread across Draco's face.

"I love you," he whispers.

"Je t'aime aussi," Draco replies.

They are interrupted by the waiter bringing wine, which Harry can hardly complain about, particularly when he tries it and it is delicious. It is such a contrast to Wednesday evening, where he was so worried about everything, that he finds tears springing to his eyes. He takes another sip of wine in order to hide his expression behind the glass.

Part of him can't believe it had turned out so well. He's almost scared he's going to wake up and find that evening was all a dream and that he has to go through it all again. The fear that he felt when the room went dark has haunted him the past two nights. He had lain awake for what felt like hours, in spite of his exhaustion, and the only thing that had finally lulled him to sleep were Draco's snores in the bed beside him.

And now here they are, having a lovely dinner in Paris. It's a dinner which starts with foie gras and is followed by the best beef bourguignon that Harry has ever had. Part of him feels like he has died and gone to food heaven. He voices this thought aloud and Draco laughs.

"You're still alive," Draco reassures him. "But I'm glad you think it's that good."

"This is amazing," Harry says as soon as he finishes his latest mouthful of food. Draco beams at him.

"I'm so glad."

"Thank you for finding this place."

"Oh, it's an old family favorite."

"I thought we just stumbled upon it?"

"You think I would leave dinner to chance?" Draco asks, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes?"

"Oh Harry. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I just thought you had a preternatural ability to find good food," Harry protests. Draco laughs loud and long at this and Harry hides his face in his napkin.

"Harry," Draco says. He reaches across the table and takes Harry's hand briefly. "I'm flattered you think that, but in reality, I'm just good at researching things. Those guidebooks that you scribble notes in? I actually read them. How do you think I knew where to go shopping in Milan?"

"Preternatural ability?" Harry guesses, but the cheeky grin on his face makes it obvious that he is joking.

"You're ridiculous."

"And yet you love me anyway."

"Perhaps I was mistaken." Harry claps a hand over his heart.

"Say it isn't so," he cries. Draco chuckles.

"I think I might love you in part _becasuse_ you are ridiculous," he says softly. They have finished the main course now and so Draco pushes his plate ever so slightly away and leans back in his chair. He has let Harry sit on the banquette while he sits opposite in a wooden chair. He had wanted Harry to be able to look out over the restaurant. There's a mirror above the banquette and Draco can see flashes of waiters and people but it still takes him somewhat by surprise when the waiter comes to clear their plates.

He orders dessert even though Harry protests that he is full. Harry doesn't know it, but dessert is half the reason they came here. He is confident that Harry will be able to eat at least a few mouthfuls of soufflé once he sees it.

He is right. Harry's eyes go wide as he sees the soufflé make its way through the restaurant. It has risen twice as tall as the dish it is in and the most impressive part of it is that no magic was involved in making it (that Draco knows of). It is the perfect end to a lovely meal and as they fall into bed at the end of the night, Draco holds Harry close and thinks that just maybe, everything will be alright.

* * *

I am so sorry this is two days late!


End file.
